Relationship insurance should be a thing. Like, you insure your relationship for a certain amount of happiness to be paid out upon termination thereof so you don't end up both alone and sad.

When you lose your family you lose everything. Except yourself, of course, you can't give that away.

(They say your friends are the family you choose, but it's the person you live with that you see day in and day out, cook for and sleep next to and nurse when they're sick. They're the one who nurses you. They're the one who has to deal with you when you get off work feeling like shit and can't say anything nice but certainly can't say nothing at all. If that's not family I don't know what is.)

My heart feels like a substance getting transferred from container to container—just a little sticks to the sides every time. If I keep going someday there'll be nothing left.

The buttercream I made tonight isn't hard enough. I started making meringue for a new batch but accidentally cooked the egg whites. I need to stop; I can start again tomorrow.

[Still not at home, don't really want to be there anyway.]

I get in moods when I want to fuck something up but that thing always ends up being me. I like to get drunk and tell people my secrets, but that only works for so long because eventually I run out and there's no more catharsis to be had, just cold hard reality poking through.

No comments:

Post a Comment

Blog Archive

More at: