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even in the heated apocalypse when you're running towards or away from something, even though you're dying with so many, it's an individual journey.
that's what she thinks of at night. In the day time, she wakes up and ponders her fate wondering if she'll ever feel part of anything worthwhile again. Everything seems such a lark now "my pet project is valid but yours is not." She had been pushed from the socials by men with small penis/big wealth. It didn't really get her anything. She often joked to people getting stuck on that platform: these shoes were made by kind people who paid a living wage as was the pen. One tries their very fucking best, figures out how delusional they were, then a lonely death.
She often had a lot of cat things pop up in her reddit feed. those fucking innocent eyes. the innocent eyes of all of them. She thinks that's truly what God or US meant when it was said "dominion over the earth". And the absolute adoration and personification that goes into the relationship of the animal. she would say regretfully that her marriages were like her cats - excellent prospects yet pre-mature death due to lack of routine care.
She sort of hated it when the reddit people put "we" like they couldn't be separated from an entity. Who was she going to run to at the armegeddon or who was she going to call? oh honey, you're late to that tragedy. She's already cried wet hot tears over that and every other imaginative trajectory of doom one can formulate.
She cut the fucking grass though yesterday. She cut the fucking grass. It wasn't the best job and there were still some flowers (and yes, 'twas heartbreaking to cut the flowers and yes sure she'd love to just turn it all over to tomato farming. The trouble - or one of the troubles - is she's seen it all before and knows how this plot turns out and does NOT like the ending. She thinks the cats are the baramators of who you are. She doesn't have a lover, so she cares about you instead. You'll never exist and never have, and she says this all the time hoping she's wrong. It's a shit-covered self-made unlocked pen when you stay in your own prison of fear "they won't like me mommy just like you didn't."
And she thinks of when the shoe/ball drops and she's to think of the dreaded "what now". A cold win pops into her window, and she sometimes thinks she is like cinderella and all of nature.conspires to get her with the prince. But he's just a tool. He's the surest way out, but not the only way out. She had been prince-hunting her entire life because not only was it a proven successful family "job" for women, yet it was in all the childhood programming.
What was it all for? what was she going towards. Two nights ago, during one of her terrors since the mother left, she fell to the ground and had a madly beating heart and felt like a freight train was going off in her head. She immediately puked and shat afterwards wondering the whole time if this was the "it" - the death. She wasn't even sure there would be anyone posthumously triggered to read her. And oh to be read, what was that? she guessed it was life. She guessed she wasn't really yet worthy of an EMT wasting their time on someone who's about to get laid off and walking dead anyway...(she thought of how she wasn't ready to go yet laughed bitterly)
And when Palestine was recently bombed into oblivion, I thought of the kind, anonymous person who fed a cat there...and I break character and weep again...for you... which is always connected to me... blah blah blahbibbity blah...
The tribe I'm a member of - I don't even know if they know they're a tribe....
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