The right tunes on, last lucky cigarette, and a cat facing the window.
The right ambience after sittting on thoughts all day. And I can already peruse my cat looking around awkwardly looking to halt the process of laptop-time.
I recently shared with my dad on how I limit myself to 4 packs of cigarettes per year. How do I do this? I only limit to winter and keep an eye on how long they last. 4 leftover since February when I came home recently. And now a pack gone, I can only kindly wonder how much long it’ll take, a pack of intermediaries in the form of a traded token. Not my brand, but something kismet like old nostalgia before my health was a debacle and I was only grind-heavy on work leaving everyday and never coming except to an exploratory form of laundry day.
I don’t remember those Sams well. The ones where I put away the writer’s tout to get to just working and being. One thing I struggle with every time I go inpatient is pretending where my life was just a blimp in there. There was a person that shared they wouldnt share this experience at all to their fiancee and all I’m thinking is the thing’s I’ll do to keep a team supported while I weigh in for a 2 week observed physical.
The Worst.
I had to go in for it, so that means IVC and how to get there, get IVC’d.
They’re coming for you anyways and its supposed to not sound big and bad. Like preemptive scheduled control. The worst work morale trip ever.
And half the plane didn’t get fired.
Just looking around like hey… you made it too after all these years in recent? Yeah. Never work in batches of 4 years kids. It’ll feel like you never got paid and have to scrounge to an interloper of being a jump street child actress.
That’s what mine feels like.
At least I dreamt this dream, and another year in seems so interesting to keep going.
Maybe the money will be better, but at least I’m paying my taxes for my medication this time around.
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