The Bloody Doors Off

That came into my head.

5 minutes ago.

I was fucking narrating myself like I was the subject of a documentary.

Only they couldn’t afford Morgan Freeman for voice overs.

Andrew “Dice” Clay did it for fifty bucks and a pack of smokes.

How much is a pack of smokes, anyway?

I haven’t bought any since October 2013.

October can be a difficult month.

Add Covid and stir.

But.

There is a way I can keep Harold from interfering.

Do things.

Not “keep myself distracted” because that never works.

Burying trauma is never good.

Can I use that word?

That’s the first time I’ve thought of it this way.

I’m not comparing myself to anyone else. But what I went through back then was traumatizing. It shook me at my core. It triggered my worst bipolar episode.

/ tangent

Do things.

Make plans. Reconnect with friends.

Walk the dog on the regular.

Write.

Right.

Write.

What I’m doing here has purpose.

I’m telling my story.

p.s. I ate the pudding.