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Up at 5:30amET because of the fucking orange cat, but it wasn't a tragedy. The tragedy was hearing that my nephew's baby-momma might be dying of liver failure - drink. She had been stuffing the pain so long, it finally might kill her.
And you, with this news, no one cares that you decided to come and see me again.
I care greatly. I keep thinking I'm in love with you, but then I have sober conversations where I have nothing to say except "are you coming or not."
And the work involved in all of it.
I doubt I can pretend any longer that I'm light and easy - and seeing my family- hopefully you'll be able to do the math. I'm exhausted from the labor it took to lift you and them at the same time. I was stupid and did not realize it would be hard. I had thought it would be something. I knew it was the time to do it, yet I'm still not sure of the consequences.
I am fucking exhausted. I am not sure how much more I can give you. I'll make a grocery list now so I won't forget.
None of it is hard. It's just that I'm not very great at being an adult, and I am so tired from the emotional labor. I woke up today and did laundry - washing your towel. I swept. I cut the grass. ''I'm so happy you're coming, but I don't know what I'm doing.
I want to be able to turn to you as a rock. Instead, I've got to do a little dance to gain your trust. I guess. Do you have mine even? not quite yet.
I'm pulled by the notion that when you're around - I feel I don't want to be anywhere else but with you.
as the French say Ca suffit. I'll translate for you.
I'm in, and I'm struggling as I'm hoping it will get realer and realer.
Now to all the stores to buy the stuff that makes me an adequate host.
First, to wait until they open.
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