So, I've been sort of okay and sort of horridly depressed for about two weeks now.
My room reeks of spray paint and chemicals and it's making me nauseous. Maybe I should move the "painting" I just did to the porch. Really I am fucking tired as shit.
I don't begrudge it, fuck, I don't. It makes sense. We should make the days he works the nights we hang out.
But I still miss his arms and still feel sad he chose that rather than me.
Big sad sigh sappy sadness.