Lump

I haven’t felt like writing in a while; most of the time aside from work, I just stretch out in bed and occasionally (OK, more often than that) fall asleep. I think Autumn considers me another cat. Besides, every time I’ve tried to write something here in the last little while, it felt forced. Whatever. I don’t have to keep this site constantly updated right now. I’m just living my life, and if that means laying in my bed doing nothing, so be it.

I’ve mostly been thinking about random things, like whether there were people I didn’t really get along with or know well in childhood or adolescence who I would have had much more in common with as an adult. It’s easier to find like-minded people when you’re not hiding behind defense mechanisms. I’ve always been amazed how many people in my past that I’ve reconnected with over the years also turned out to be queer.

It’s hard to sleep sometimes. Night time seems to be when my brain’s the most active. I’m trying to spend as many of my waking hours feeling comfortable in my own skin and protecting my brain from the creeping rage that I feel over the gleeful sadism and encroaching fascism that is America under the thumb of an emotionally-stunted real estate heir.

I probably should be getting out more, even just to sit outside somewhere and feel a breeze on my face. I don’t necessarily want to be alone, but interacting with people tires me out; even thinking about it exhausts me.