Return of the Lost Weekend

Remember that lost weekend I had a couple of months ago? Yeah, I think it’s returned with a different sort of vengeance. And I’m awfully tired of this shit.

It’s not his fault.

It’s not my fault.

But what is my fault is how I’m reacting to it.

And that’s not healthy either.


Be mindful, be present.

Fuck that. I don’t want to be mindful or present. I just want to rage like the Hulk. Scream my frustrations out. It’s maddening.

But it’s my thing. Not his. He doesn’t need to take the brunt of my anger.

Maybe it’s the wanderlust that’s singing in my blood.

Maybe it’s the boredom talking.

Maybe I should just go fucking outside and do something.

And yes, I know. I am being over dramatic.


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