In public, where people can see me, I put on that front. You know, the one where you refuse to acknowledge what an utter fucking mess you are because all of a sudden you not only don’t have it all together but you’re not really even sure what “all” refers to anymore because there is such a shit storm of pain and garbage and ick swirling around inside your head that you can’t even pick out individual pieces of words let alone string together one whole coherent sentence. I’m wearing it like a mask right now, a Mama-shaped mask.
I feel like Little Girl Lost. It hurts and so I move and then it hurts more and then it settles and then it settles too long and it hurts again. It’s infected, good gawd almighty is it infected. I called the GP and she called out an antibiotic, both a pill and a topical application. Josh has gone to get them. I’m not sure if they’ll help. I actually hold no tangible hope that they stand a chance in hell of helping. But this is quite possibly enough infection close enough to a major artery that to ignore the situation would be passive suicide.
And regardless of how this monstrous alien fucking growth is making me feel right now, today is not a good day to die.
The only thing this old broad really knows how to do is give it all I’ve got. So please excuse me if I’m a little bitchier than usual. It’s just no fucking fun walking around looking like you’ve gang-banged the entire circus.