Ever since I came back from vacation last month it's been another nutty ride. The situation I described in this post a few months ago has become way more serious. I've been spending a lot of time away from home trying to be helpful and comforting. I feel inadequate as fuck and I can't seem to care that dirty dishes and trash are piling up in my house. Well, to quote the Andy Warhol Diaries, the diary can write itself on the rest of this subject. Unfortunately for you and me, I don't have Pat Hackett to interpolate.
I've been listening to a podcast called My Favorite Murder, with hosts Georgia Hardstark and Karen Kilgariff. They each read a true murder story and have hilarious side discussions about every possible off-topic subject. There are a couple episodes where it gets so heavy for both of them that they decide to talk about some nice things that happened during their week. Right now in my head I'm replaying moments from the Chealsea Peretti special that I watched with Andrice the other night, as we ate Halloween party leftovers. That was pretty much all right.
This dumb post has taken this entire week to write. Almost nothing I want to say is stuff I want to post. I did clean up a li'l bit around the house so I'm not Miss Havishamming it all the time. I'm also talking to my friends and family as much as I can. But that's about as upbeat as I can make myself sound right now.
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