It’s a beautiful day out there
but I’m just going to stay in my bed for now.
with a hot water bottle, and some pain meds, and maybe breakfast.
Fuck you, cramps. Fuck you.
I am stronger, braver, and kinder. I am happy. I am sad. I am whole and broken. I am nervous, paranoid, and overeager. I am a multitude of things, good and bad. But I am me. And I am learning to love myself.
The psychotherapist asked me to write a short account of my life. So far, this is only thing I like from the 2500 words I’ve managed to write.
Just spent half the bloody morning filling in forms with questions like “Have you felt anger towards others?” and “Have you wanted to self harm?” and “On a scale of 1 to 10 how likely are you to have unprotected sex with a stranger?”; and reducing my life story to 45 minutes, only to be told that yes, yes I do need bloody therapy.
Aye, that would be helpful doctor.
Listening to Usher. I have no idea why.
Productivity levels diminishing.
Pain. Lots of it. Damn you, biology.
Just read an article about how brands name themselves.
Now I’m trying to figure out what I would call my company.
I regret the Subway sandwich I just had for lunch.
Also, not enough coffee.