Yesterday I ate six cinnamon donuts in ten minutes, while simultaneously crying and driving to the hospital to see my brother. Then I felt sick, filled with carbs and self hatred. Talk about eating your feelings.
Not even the sight of two alpaca’s in reindeer hats lifted my spirits. Normally I would be thrilled at Push-Me-Pull-You’s wandering the streets of Hawthorn, instead I was absorbed by the Fuck-Me-Fuck-You feeling that was wandering about my head.
Then I went to the isolation ward at the hospital, where I tried not to lose my shit in front of the bro, and to some extent I succeeded but I looked like an uncommunicative asshole, yawning, checking my phone. Like an alpaca with an attitude problem.
Then I went home and watched TV, ate pasta, felt sick, then went to bed and cried for a while. I cried so much my dog Bert howled. It was super weird. He’s such a needy animal. Whereas I’m just a greedy animal.
If you need me today, I will be in bed, planning my death or a new book, I’m unsure which. Both are equally as painful.