& so it’s winter


& mercury is in retrograde so this is not the time to be feeling good about your life, your body, or anything involved. everything is annoying. everything is taken personally. everything is an insult. so you’ve been sick for over a week because you can’t afford to adequately heat your house? that’s what you get for being a fuck-up. you get sicker because you have to walk for miles in the snow every day? that’s what you get for being a fuck-up who can’t drive. you don’t have health insurance, it’s your own goddamn fault. you can’t write a grant; you can’t write a book; you’ve mortally offended the mentally ill man who is a client at your law firm and now he won’t stop calling and you’re not answering the phone because you do not give a fuck.
& your favorite ex-con at book ’em got sent back to prison for no real fucking reason. for having a few glasses of wine with xmas dinner, which isn’t allowed at his halfway house, and you think about how he used to say, “my only goal in life is to never go back to prison,” and he said it real proud, like he thought he was going to do it, and you wonder what he’ll be like when he comes out. if he’ll even try at anything anymore. and you can’t tell this to anyone and have them understand how devastated it’s made you because everyone you are currently close with has not had to eat shit every day of their lives; and that chasm is the widest, the most uncrossable.


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