Wednesday, June 24

The only thing missing from this post is feline AIDS.

I cried in the shower tonight. Not because getting Head and Shoulders in your eyes feels like what I assume Agent Orange feels like when it gets behind your eyelids, but because I'm fucking sad. I had one thing in Minneapolis, one thing that persistently becomes worse as the pitiful conversation carries on day after day. The last time I cried in the shower, I was really drunk. I had a glass of pinot grigio resting in one of the corners of the tub. The more I cleansed my drunken soul, the more hot water splashed into the glass. Watery, sad pinot grigio. I don't even remember why I was crying. It was probably one of those instances where I saw a romantic quote on Pinterest or thought of someone I lost touch with after a considerable amount of time. But tonight, I cried in the shower because I have nothing here.


A small word for something that is so gargantuan and menacing, like a dormant monster. I Skyped with my dad tonight, and after some consideration, I decided to move earlier than I originally intended to. Why prolong the nothingness when I can pack up my life in a reasonable amount of time? I'll have family waiting and my kitty, who I'm sure will think I abandoned him with strange people who in some ways smell like me. He'll probably see my nephew before I will.

For fuck's sake, I like cheese more than I like most people right now. Cheese has never wronged me. Cheese has never given me criticism on my sobriety in a loose yet carnivorous way. Cheese never felt the need to apologize to me.

I'm angry because I feel like I've failed. I feel like moving is my only option. Comedy sucks, people are idiots, and heartbreak is keeping me in bed every day. The longer I stay in Minneapolis, the longer I'm enlivening my suffering. What's the best way to begin a summer? Starting a new medication and hating everyone whom I come into contact with.

I'm crying now because all I really want is to be happy. There's a frightening amount of fog in my head. Whenever someone asks me "how are you" I usually have two options. Tell them, "not bad" or be heinously honest and say "you know, not great. I just went through a break up that I'm still living through each day, I'm depressed to the point of making a sloth look like Usain Bolt, and I'm spending so much time alone that I'm actually starting to talk to myself to revive some semblance of companionship." That's where I'm at right now, and it sucks.

But Liz! Why don't you go for a run? Running. The cornerstone of depression. I love that people who aren't depressed are the quickest to offer up solutions to the sad and alone. I don't run. Period. If the cops are involved or there's free insulin, I'll be lucky enough to speed up to a mosey, maybe even a jog. Otherwise, sleeping until 5pm and eating a meal that I don't have to cook are my options. But yeah, running with no end goal in mind sounds like a real treat.

July 31st won't be able to come soon enough. At least I'll only be separated from kitty for about three weeks instead of the original eight. I have yet to explain to kitty that he'll be in a dimly lit cargo hold for the trip out to Seattle. I'm sure him and his best tummy won't mind. I need to go through more clothes and take them to Goodwill or wherever isn't my closet, and there are maybe a handful of things I absolutely have to do before leaving the state.

I'm not even sure why I'm writing this post tonight. I think I needed to vent to something without a pulse.

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