a pinata at the end of the party

2021-11-21 -- 9:30 p.m.

I feel like the pinata at the end of the party. Empty, battered, my guts hanging out. This pandemic took everything I had left after fertility treatment, being pregnant with twins, and having twins. I am so depleted. I say it all the time, I'm so depleted. I need something to look forward to. On paper, I have everything I set out to have: a great husband, a nice house in Toronto, two cute kids. But fuck it's hard. I just want an escape hatch - currently it's a 4 bedroom house with a walk-in closet and a shower. I'm sure that wouldn't make things easier (it would make things harder, in reality, because then I'd have to pay for that, too). But just a bit of comfort, you know?

Everything I want is just comfort: more sleep, more time alone, slippers, sweatpants, a nice clean house. Just anything comfortable. Everything is uncomfortable and hard.


before || after

last five is the shit:
a pinata at the end of the party - 2021-11-21
36 Weeks - 2018-08-03
some nights the blood from real cuts feels real nice when it's really mine - 2018-03-20
maybe I don't want to write an informative book about a 90s television show - 2017-03-30
maybe I don't want to write an informative book about a 90s television show - 2017-03-30

small
epiphany
email
older
diaryland
gbook
robert
samra
noalarms
andrea
two-faced