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So. I'll get the cube in the breakup. It will be mine all mine. I won't be able to afford internet from home, and this will be a bit of a bitch.
So I'm writing you a shitload now whilst i have the 'at-home'
connection and stability. I consider it all stable at this moment. I think I only cry when I'm around people/talking to them, etc. (or in my new shithole). I'm about to go to jane's, so we'll see if I cry there.
Help me.
Help me.
Save me.
Save me.
Boohoo.
It's 4:20 in the sunday afternoon here.
I am so lucky. Look at me, bitching to you about all the crap. So I pay half+ salary for a place that makes me cringe inwardly. So what.
For some reason, I chose it, and I always lie in my beds.
So I had something and I fucked it up.
So I only have one friend in this city.
My new 'home' will make me hike and get out and walk and ponder.
I will survive. I'm not a total fuck-up.
God help me. This is the hardest most dastardly thing I've ever undertaken. I am praying to you right now to save me. Save me from me (yes, kady lang said it first).
Help.
When I was in the black hole in wilmington, I didn't have the robot.
Oh, what I would have written you. You are a therapy (as I have stated many times). I think of the robot as a magic (thanks rich). It has even had another romance started - just two months old.
God.
Help me.
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