Late…

Yeh, he is late again. And it’s Monday. It is actually every Monday. So that’s not suspicious or anything. He calls me early to tell me he will be late. I honestly feel like the biggest butt of the worst possible, cliched, saddest joke ever told. I make sure the monkeys are fed and/or clean before he gets home. Which always changes, I have no idea where he even is when he calls, even his call-in time is completely unpredictable, so having anything prepared at the appropriate time is impossible.

Not like I would be able to get anything done. My meds slow me down, so my sloth status remains in place. I’ve barely been able to motivate myself to even make dinner for eveyone. I am sloth, hear me do nothing! I need to clean the floors and couches. I am constantly battling some thing or another. Disappointment, depression, anxiety, lack of focus, mood swings, side effects. I really shouldn’t even stress over these things. My meds should take care of numbing every feeling I might have.

I haven’t been unfaithful for a very long time. As much as I want my lover, I can’t even get excited enough to actually leave my house. This is next level Sloth!  I can’t even get exicted anout having crazy, animalistic, sweaty, heart-pounding,  on-the-sly sex! What the hell is wrong with me? He actually likes the extra weight I’ve put on, and WANTS to fucking touch every inch of me! 

But the one man I am attached to, cant even be bothered to convincingly hide his whatever he is doing. It could be anything. I have no idea what his salary is, nor how much time he actually puts in. I feel like I need more information. Fuck it! Maybe I should go back to cutting and making each day a piece of compensatory blood and pain for the universe to suck out of me.

I don’t think I even need to speak. No one hears me anyway. I am a blob of white noise.

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