I was doing ok there for a bit, I was absolutely certain I'd get all of those things that I'd put off done eventually. Now, I know I won't.
It wasn't on a turn of a dime you know. I spent two weeks not sleeping, working, moving from one brilliantly shining moment to the next.
Of course, it couldn't last, so much light can't help but cast shadows.
I am afraid of the bills of work of refinancing the mortgage. I know I should call the doc, and I feel like I might. It's the right thing to do, but that thought is vague, you know?
I am troubled by the aftermath of suicide, who'll find me, but also the practicalities. How do I make it work with the how and the least trauma to the people who find me and the people I leave behind? Do I have the courage to go through with it? What about the cats?
I'm tired. I'm alone.