I Am Gonna Make It Through This Week If It Kills Me.

Me talking about writing: It’s holy, to create. To make something out of nothing and emptiness. To make somethings broken and somethings full. Somethings tragic and somethings wonderful. To put into words that sharpness of living, the vivid colors, the ones that gray. How truely godly it is! How devine! To create in our own image, whatever image we wish. So is the nature of life! Out of us constantly emerging something, something, something. So is the nature of man, to make ourselves gods. What else is there but that? But our eternal making, time snatching at it with such clawing hands. What rebellious little things we are. What impudent, what childish, what stupid, what brilliant gods we are.

Me writing: click clack

My teachers: Hey! Just wanted to check in with you during these hard times. How are y’all?

Me, not having had a human interaction in weeks: I’m glad you asked,

opens news article. closes three pop up ads. backs out of the survey page i was redirected to. closes a pop up video ad. rejects cookies to make the cookie window go away. dismisses the requests to receive notifications from the website and the offers to sign up for it. dodges ninja lasers and poisonous arrow traps. body of the page is finally visible. i have reached my monthly limit and can’t read the article

yo? this really how we're talking about our sisters that can't break through the pressures of societal transmisogyny?

sorrry for the misinformation. i’m still fucked up. love isn’t healing but it makes the sickness more bearable.

im basically normal if you really dont think about it

*talking about myself* omg what’s wrong with her

i may be more delusional than you, but you’re delusional enough to love me <3

actually i think it’s okay if people are normal because personhood is inherently fucked up