The Bloody Doors Off

It’s spring. And my hormonal match is lit.

Everywhere today. Call it pheremones, that we finally had an amazing spring day, whatever. It’s kicked into gear today.

And I know there’s nothing I can do about it. Between the contract hours and extra work coming in, I barely have enough time for the basics, let alone date.

I need to compartmentalize.

This doesn’t help.

Or this.

Maybe I should read a book.

Being serious. It’d be hit or miss, anyway. Type 2 diabetic and minor bypolar 2 with depressive anxiety, the pharmaceutical cocktail to keep that in check doesn’t exactly guarantee other things won’t go, uh, soft.

With the hours, I can’t socialize as much as I’d like. It cuts in on going to the parties at Subspace. And if I wanna put on a movie, well, you never know when the roommate is coming back. Or maybe he hadn’t left. And I got a thing about being alone for that. Performance anxiety.

And that anxiety avalanche I got slammed with last weekend?

Right. Better stop this train of thought now before I completely derail.