I’ve always been a candle and incense burning kid. My parents regretted letting me get my first incense burner when I was just starting high school. Both of them are smoke and smell sensitive and I had to have windows open and not burn certain scents to make sure that I didn’t induce a bad cold or something from the smell. But I was glad they never took it away from me. I liked watching the smoke and seeing images or just being mesmerized by the movement. I liked the smell and found it calming. It was a sensory experience that made me happy and felt ritualistic for my comfort. When I was more dedicated to reading my Bible I used it to get me into the zone of study 9not that I was any good at it, I was really good at being distracted). Later I used it to enjoy any kind of reading I did, study or pleasure.
The moment I got my own apartment I was finally able to burn what I wanted to. Everything from candles and incense, to my pipe and (sometimes when I wasn’t paying attention) my food was sacrificed to fire, intentionally or not. Sometimes my flames made their way to my little porch as I sat in my hammock (since I couldn’t smoke in my apartment). Incense wasn’t forbidden in my building, and I took full advantage to take ownership of my own space.
My husband has always shared this affinity as well. Now we own a house together, and lately he’s been burning Myrrh in the basement. The sweet smell comes up through the registers and I get the light scent to touch my nose and lighten the feel of my home. Sometimes I taste it on his breath when he kisses me, and I find it once again comforting in association with our love. Even the burning of our passion.
When I was young, we did a sleep over with all the church youth group high school girls. We started having deep conversations around the beachside bonfire and talking about things that we regretted or said or did. The youth leader suggested we do a regret burning to help us let go of the things we’ve asked God to forgive us for. She got out a little spiral notebook and a handful of pens and we quietly sat and wrote out lists or situations that we regretted having been part of. We wrote out things that made us angry. Things that made us sad. All kinds of things. Those of us who were willing shared and those of us who weren’t just tossed their papers in the fire. It was a lovely bonding experience, and it made me see that fire could have a cleansing effect in my life outside of the incense.
Fire could be meaningful.
I journal a bit more now than I used to in my early adulthood. Something I’ve been working on to help with my mental health. I’ve found though, that if I journal about things that only get me going again and over excites me as I relive it, I’ve taken to writing those in a spiral notebook and tearing it out only to put it to the flame. It helps with the letting go, and perhaps there is a little malice involved when I’m angry at a person or thing, but the ritualistic burning of that which upsets me feels as if I’ve accomplished something to move through the feelings, or even past them. Not that it’s every case that I move past the feelings. Sometimes I have to burn the same narrative more than once to feel like I got through it. Sometimes I have new feelings about how something went down in the past, and I need to work through those too.
I can’t say it doesn’t help, because it does usually. I don’t care if it comes across witchy or malicious. It’s there to help me process, and it’s something that I know a lot of people do. Sometimes it’s with their wishes, sometimes it’s with their sorrows and confessions, sometimes it’s with their anger. Whatever the case, the fire feels like a necessary part of the process of coping.
I hate when I get drawn into a click bait title. I don’t find them very useful. Often they’re just some gimmick to get you riled up only to be lackluster “no duh” articles about nothing that really matters.
I assumed this one would be the same, but as I read I started making some of my own conclusions and rationalizing a few things here and there, I realized there was a lot of excellent points to be made and many that were.
The article entitled “Get Rid of Your Books” certainly puts a bibliophile like myself on high alert. It sounds like an “oh fuck no” moment. Not that I haven’t gotten rid of books. I’ve gotten rid of plenty, and not because they weren’t beloved pieces of literature.
I live in a small house, and at one time I would hoard so many pieces of literature that my floors were and sometimes still are, overrun with piles of them. Many I have passed off to friends. Many I have put into tiny libraries in my community. Some have just gone to the thrift store. When I lived in my first apartment I piled books decoratively all over the place, including under my furniture with spines peeking out tastefully… and now that I own a home, I’m beyond that. They’re piled haphazardly all over with all 5 of my cats slinking through it as if it is a great city of literature. A playground that could tumble down at a moment’s notice.
Tumble they do, and they shake the whole house as a cat or two scampers away from the site of terror. It’s almost a game to them these days.
My mom always comments on how I need a bigger house just to house my books and my husband’s DVDs. I jokingly ask her if she plans on buying me one. We both laugh about it, and I remind her that when I bought my house was an ideal time, because my tiny little single story ranch style house would be unaffordable to me in this market now. She isn’t wrong though, I would love a larger house (preferably a Victorian in good shape) to put our collections into. I just can’t do it and don’t every expect to be able to either. I plan to die in this house.
So my only option is to get pickier about what I’m bringing home, and start to clear out what I’m not able or willing to get through.
Which brings me back to the article. Because I like the perspective the writer offers here:
But what if, in this quest to declutter, we think about our physical books not as baubles with which to impress potential mates, but as a way to exist in, and relate to, the world. When you give a book away, you have given it the opportunity to befriend a stranger. You’ve given it the opportunity to dazzle, to dismay, to make an impression. And no, you’ll probably never cross paths with that book again. Even a loan will not find its way home to you. But if you’re lucky, some years from now, you may hear someone mention a scene, or allude to a plot, or even misquote a passage, and you will recognize the spirit of your old friend, even outside its corporeal form: “I read that once, a long time ago,” you’ll say. You’ll say, “I loved it, too.” – DORIE CHEVLEN
I like thinking of stories as shared pieces of work, and while I enjoy sharing those pieces of work through our YouTube reviews, this makes an excellent point of using these books as sharable stories, and the greatest gift of sharing you can offer, is setting them free into the world as physical and tangible objects when you are done with them.
That is partly why Tell Tale Books LLC wants to move forward with making our own published copies, but it’s also why we offer our Etsy, to share these (in great condition) stories with others. But there is a sense of good karma in passing off a physical copy to a friend or family member without the intention of needing it back. Rehoming feels better than giving to a thrift store, where it’s a hit or miss that anyone will find value in the piece. At least with a friend, you feel a little better knowing that it may sit on a shelf and be passed onto another during its time.
It’s within human nature to share stories, and as we traversed oral history and myth into written literature, the desire to tell stories and consume them hasn’t lessened. It’s actually grown, when we consider the increase in literacy all over the world. It’s the sense of ownership that has grown as well. It’s easy to have books as a means of establishing a sense of self. We relate to literature either through enjoyment or having it resonate with our own human experience, so the desire to collect books specifically is a means of collecting an identity and signaling to others that we have these simplicities and complexities that are stored in these stories also within ourselves. It’s escapism in some cases, sure, but there are ideals and adventures held within a piece of literature that we can only wish to reach or achieve, and we no less wish we could and feel we can when we read these books.
All this is why it’s so difficult for a collector to let go of a piece of literature. There is so much self and sense of relationship with a book. It’s a person reaching through the past or present in a way that is so daringly intimate and thrilling it can’t help but feel like building a relationship. The book becomes a friend.
While I can’t help but agree with the article that we are allowed, have permission, and should share great books as physical objects…people like me will continue to struggle to do so. Will I probably continue to peel through my books and try to pass off what I think isn’t going to continue to serve me more than once? Sure. Will I still die drowning in literature? I sure hope so.
I’m very affected by weather. Rainy days make me tired. Sunny days give me energy. I can feel air pressure changes in my ears frequently with the damage done from my chronic ear infections. The weather can affect my mood just as much as the temperature outside can affect my blood sugars. I experience SADS when it’s winter dreary and dark. Despite my best efforts, I am affected by nature, and have learned to accept that and roll with it as needed and just listen to what my body needs as the barometer changes.
A friend of mine shares a similar experience and as we discussed it she told me one of her friends said he felt it was a weakness to be so affected by weather. It was a sign of “weak character or a weak internal self” according to him.
As we discussed his opinion, I personally feel like that is a common reaction for people to have when they find out how affected by weather and nature some people are, and it’s easy to label those kinds of people as “snow flakes” or “sensitive.”
So what if they are? Why is that bad?
I would probably self-identify as a sensitive person. Not in that I’m easily offended, in fact I’m quite the opposite. It takes a lot to offend me, and I’m certainly not afraid of conflict. But I am very aware of how things make me feel and I’m able to rationally evaluate if my reactions are relevant or if I’m reading into something too much. I have a lot of understanding for imperfection, being imperfect myself, and I leave space for people to shoot off their mouths and let go of it knowing that not everything said is relevant. Probably all as a result of hyper vigilance with a family that has a lot of mental health and anxiety disorders and seeing to survive with some sense of self-worth in tact, but also a good indicator that I have fought long and hard to have a great deal of self awareness and strong emotional intelligence.
When it comes to my physical being I’m constantly paying attention to how I feel. Diabetic issues have subtle and sometimes not-so-subtle physical signals of something going wrong. Noticing these things makes take care of myself before things get to a place of emergency. Stress, anxiety, pain, pleasure, and so many other factors can cause a myriad of physical reactions because of my chronic illness being unable to automatically regulate those things like they can in a healthy person. Not to say normal people don’t notice or feel sensations, but their bodies can chemically regulate them much more quickly and efficiently than mine can.
Because physical sensations can cause the body to have physical reactions, my diabetes often reacts to weather. For example, cold weather makes my blood sugars really high and hot weather gives me more low blood sugars. Being in tune with how those things make me physically feel are a part of life and death for me. It’s a survival skill to notice those things, and often a mood swing caused by a blood sugar fluctuation is a pretty good indicator something is up and needs addressing. Cold rainy days make my blood sugar go up and usually shows its self through excessive thirst, irritability, and exhaustion. Taking insulin, hydration, and a nap is a good answer to solving the blood sugar issue when I can’t go outside for a walk to exercise because of the bad weather. Usually a solid nap, drinking water, and/or a hot shower can help bring down my blood sugars a little too, though the nap tends to be most effective for me personally.
If those things are caused by “weak character or a weak internal self” then I suppose I’d be considered “weak” which isn’t uncommon for someone who is chronically ill with mental health issues to be labeled. But I ponder the phrasing and wonder what having “weak character or weal internal self’ actually means? It seems like it would be a very subjective judgment to pass on someone, especially without knowing them well or having a more solid foundation to your rationale. It’s very narrow view if you ask me, with a lot more complexity than portrayed in his statement.
I think the industrialization of western culture, religion, and probably overall colonialism is what has developed this idea of being affected by nature being a weakness. It’s seen as a strength to overcome and “have dominion” over or conquering nature as Judeo-Christian culture would lead us to believe, because we have developed to a point where culture seems to think we don’t need nature as much as we once did. Modern amenities, while often rooted in nature, feel so far away from nature that it is easy to think there is an overall separation that is not necessarily true. We have placed walls between us and nature so well, that we often forget how dependent we still are on the earth and our own instinct.
As the human race became less dependent on productivity being reliant on nature the idea of conquering nature was positively reinforced. The discovery of fire conquered darkness and cold so people didn’t let themselves sleep at night and could be warm and productive during the cold and dark winters. Electricity took it another step where there are places that operate all night long producing products that aren’t necessarily needed for life, but certainly make being “productive” easier, faster, and make more money. People sleep less than they used to and don’t necessarily rest when it’s dark, because there is a perception that we no longer need darkness to prevent us from doing things, and thus no longer need rest.
“I’ll sleep when I’m dead” has become a remarkably common figure of speech in Eurocentric cultures. Are people still tired? Sure, but it often doesn’t stop people from being “night owls” for the sake of productivity and fulfillment through entertainment or a social night life.
Capitalism doesn’t help this either. The more “productivity” out of a business, the more potential to make a profit. Then the more you can pay your overnight workers to keep the incentive to work the graveyard shift (that’s only if you’re a good employer mind you), and the deregulation of the body can certainly affect a human in more ways than one. As capitalism took root in western Eurocentric culture, we started to see industry boom, new discoveries, and the potential to do more with more tools and more technology. This obsession with productivity for the sake of commerce has taken its toll on the public as a whole, and with it has come the misconception that to have any sort of “primitive” or “primal” urges that are in sync with “human nature” (with an emphasis on the “nature” part) is uncivilized. Only “savages” and “third world” nations lived in tune with nature, because they lacked the philosophy, religion, and/or resources to conquer nature. Thus nature, over time, became obsolete to a majority of humanity and only associated with a lack of civilization and the negative feeling of being limited and thus less productive.
Now, it’s not uncommon for people to equate their whole identity with their productivity in their careers, and in doing so, one has to feel a sense of overcoming those natural signals that nature gives us that something is amiss. We fight nature instead of honoring it.
I feel that to live in tune with nature, and have those primal part of us still in tact, are a strength. The primal desire to survive keeps us alive. The primal desire for sex and pleasure keeps us from dying out and losing our sanity. To feel changes in weather acts as a warning that it’s time to take cover. To feel tired or depressed on gloomy days encourages us to rest and reflect, since in ancient times to rain meant not much was going to be done outdoors. That there is still a feral wildness in us ready to unleash at a moments notice is ferocious, comforting, and necessary for survival. It’s not “falling prey” to the primal, as we often are lead to believe. It’s not limiting. It is noticing what is within our nature and being able to make the choice to act or not with an enlightened knowledge of circumstances from our always developing cognitive abilities.
To deny those pieces of self are to deny yourself the benefits or warnings those instincts and feelings bring. They’re a superpower in an industrialized age, not a weakness. It is our wildness coming through, and it deserves and serves our notice.
“There are a bunch of administrators in the building today.” My coworker warned me seeing that I was sitting down at the front desk, worried I’d get scolded.
“What’s he going to do? Fire me?” We both chuckled, knowing I was only 3 shifts away from my last day by that point.
Honestly with how busy everyone’s summer was, he couldn’t afford to fire me. I was the only person available for the Saturday shift. Which is my final weekend opening to close shift.
But seriously my back hurt. I needed to rest it for only a few moments. All the other receptionists got to sit down at their stations in the building. Why was it such a big deal that we not sit? Because we are a gym and not necessarily a medical clinic despite our health and medical focus? Still didn’t track.
So here it is. Saturday morning. After today I only have two more shifts at the gym and then I’ll be at the museum all the time, which I’m quite happy about. I was even telling my therapist how it felt good to have some sovereignty back. Some power in my corner since my days here are numbered and I can definitely say no to a few things here and there. As long as I don’t slack on my duties I feel like I’ll finish strong.
My mom always told me to do that. To finish strong. She said that to me all through my school career and then continued to say it into my adulthood when I was moving from one job to another when the desire to be more lax on things would tempt me. I had no desire to end poorly, but I definitely felt I needed to let a few things go here and there. To pick my battles so-to-speak.
So I let go.
People would be upset about something on their member accounts and I felt more empowered to just tell them like it is than I did before. People were rude and I felt better about calling them out on it. I mean they signed contracts…and it’s not my job to babysit and hand hold over 1,000 members. Sometimes my hands are tied. Sometimes you just need to let people suffer through their own ignorance of the contract they signed.
They’re adults. They should know better.
So I’m taking the day in stride. I brought a book incase it gets slow. I have my phone charger incase I don’t want to read and just want to zombie scroll in the meantime. I’m practically counting down the moments to when I no longer have to worry about getting up to come to the gym and just focus on being one place for work and have time to take care of my own LLCs in my down time. Because I’ll actually have down time. Thank God.
With the decision made, I parked my car in the Panda Express parking lot to help me stop shaking and called my mom.
I had no reason to be anxious or have a panic attack. Everything happening was good, but things were changing. Change is hard, and my anxiety was already at an all time high. Weather or not is was from over caffeinating I wasn’t sure.
As we spoke mom reassured me. She understood that I had more options to grow at the museum than at the gym. She knew the museum was my passion and happy place. The fact that they wanted me there more was a huge deal, and she knew that I was burned out on having two jobs and pretty much no free time.
Ultimately, I missed my family and freedom, and getting some of it back was the biggest draw for me. That and the thought that I’d probably take better care of myself if I had the time and less burnout to deal with. My husband already prepared himself for getting me on his insurance. The family was supportive.
All the preparations were in motion.
As I was at the desk at the gym I prepared myself to write my resignation email. I started to tell my coworkers. Most of them were supportive. Some were obviously stressed out about me leaving and how the schedule was going to be reworked. Which was entirely understandable. It could directly affect their lives and schedules a lot.
Still, I wasn’t going to let their stress get to me. I had to do this.
The gym has not been bad to me. I missed having family time in the evenings and on weekends because of my schedule with them and the museum simultaneously, but honestly it was one of the most socially healthy places I had ever worked besides the museum. Everyone gets along pretty well. The pay is very good. Conflict is scarce. Everyone has great work ethic and works well together. The company wasn’t bad either, good benefits, lots of perks, and low exploitation rate for the most part. Even the members are pretty good. Many showing their appreciation or at least verbalizing it to let you know what you do is worth something to them.
The place is just full of really good and kind people, which made leaving it somewhat a hard decision….but not too hard a decision.
I like the gym, but I love the museum.
I love the museum so much that I’ve volunteered for over 7 or so years and did all the things I’m doing there now for free. It’s my dream job. Why wouldn’t I want to be there more?
The museum just makes the most sense for me.
Besides proximity and hardly needing to use gas to get there, it definitely lines up more with my goals and design experience to be at the museum. I love my coworkers and have been working with them for a few years now, so we already know each others nuances and personality quirks. We’ve been there for each other during good and bad. We have seen a lot of life happen to each other. It’s like family now, but with better emotional boundaries and a lot less trauma.
I’m really excited about everything. I’ve only got 10 days left before my last shift, and I only work 6 of those days at the gym. The rest are at the museum, and I’m loving my time there and really looking forward to continuing my journey with them.
I told her honestly that I didn’t know if I had lost weight or not. I’ve not been paying attention to that. I got rid of my scale ages ago. I wouldn’t be surprised if I did though, but I disliked the compliment afterward. How do you know the circumstances under which a person loses weight?
We live in a culture where we always assume weight loss is a positive thing, which is infuriating. Not all of us are happy about it. In my case it means a lot of bad things because of my type 1 diabetes. It means my blood sugars run way too high. It means I’m in Ketosis which can become Diabetic Keto Acidosis very quickly and is an extremely deadly and dangerous situation.
But people only notice the external result, and because our society tends to be superficial they applaud the external result as if I’m taking good care of myself when it is the opposite. The complexities of human bodies aren’t often taken into account. Neither is the complexity of the psyche. The assumption that the person who has experienced weight loss is healthy doesn’t account for chronic illness or mental health issues. We don’t think of eating disorders. We don’t think about exercise addiction. We don’t think about the struggles of being a type one diabetic. We don’t think about chronic pain that can cause either weight loss or weight gain. We don’t think about thyroid conditions that do similarly.
Because as a culture we want thinner bodies to be healthy bodies. Even when they aren’t. It needs to stop.
They ended up giving me one star, which seemed a little harsh considering they got a free gift with the items. Granted the items were destroyed, but in a condition that looked more pulled apart than crushed with the potential to be repaired from the photos they sent. I was just as disappointed as they were, but then even more so for a moment when I saw how harsh the review was.
Originally I was going to use this post to pull the buyer apart and also be insulting, mainly for the things they lied about. But customers exaggerating to the point of lying isn’t new to me. I expected it to a degree with any interaction that is less than ideal after my many years as a retail worker. That will never change. Some people you just can’t make it right with and this person is a product of an instant gratification culture. Their response is expected.
I mostly feel badly for them for taking a 6 dollar purchase so seriously.
I’ve decided instead to talk about what I’m proud of in the interaction instead.
I’m proud of myself for having gotten the package out in time at all in the first place. The purchase had been made during that week of opening shifts that basically had me mostly zombie. So the fact I got the items out on time at all felt like a win. Even if they arrived broken. I had no reason to think they would arrive broken anyway. Others of the same item arrived intact to their destinations and were packaged the same way.
I’m proud of the fact that it didn’t “take a week+” to respond to the request for a full reimbursement. It did take me 5 days, and I’m glad to have had that win despite the customers exaggeration otherwise and how busy that following week was too. I’m also proud of not having apologized for taking so long to respond. I’m allowed to be a busy worker. I’m allowed to have a life. My customers are not entitled to my daily attention.
I’m also proud that I expressed that I too was disappointed about it all in my response to the customer: “Oh how disappointing. You’ve been fully refunded! I’ll be sure to leave commentary in my next post office survey and be sure to take more care with my packaging in the future.” Was my response. Indicating that I learned from the experience and their concerns were valid. Like I said before, I had sent items before just as I had to this customer. This was an item outside of my usual items and it was a bit of a learning curve, but having had others of the same item arrive safely packaged exactly the same way I had to this disgruntled customer, it seemed safe to assume these would too.
I’m proud that I do not have any more of these to sell so thankfully I do not have to worry about trying to send anymore.
I’m also proud that I’m taking this as a learning experience instead of as the insult it was intended to be. I’m allowed to be human. To make mistakes. To grow from those mistakes. To not let those mistakes define me or my buissness. I’m allowed to give myself far more chances than this customer did. I’m allowed to forgive myself and move on, and I’m proud of myself for doing so.
I’m proud of myself for losing this customer. Mainly because I don’t want people who have this kind of energy about small makers trying to make it work. I don’t want to continue to attract that kind of energy and I don’t want to give off the energy that I tolerate people who are determined to lack understanding that sometimes things just happen and it’s out of our hands.
I’m proud of myself for knowing I can do better and being determined to do better. A bad few weeks doesn’t make a bad life. I’m a human and allowed to have off days.
The coffee here isn’t good, but it’s cheap and I need to caffeinated and warm up because the AC makes the building a huge refrigerator. I feel the heaviness behind my eyes lingering relentlessly. That feeling like something is pressing just enough that you are very aware of the placement of your eyeballs in their sockets. Katy Perry is singing California Girls over the speakers, but I’m in no mood. Generally I’d at least head-bop to this one, but I cannot even think straight. I’m literally just typing the first thing that comes into my head as I sit here attending half heartedly to the front desk.
I’m a bad employee today, and quite honestly I don’t give a damn. The fact that I even showed up proves otherwise. I could have very well bailed out. Something that keeps tempting me. I met my deductible on my insurance though, and I’m desperate to ride that out as long as I can. The insurance is a huge plus.
So now I’m here brewing coffee. Twice the amount of coffee than usual because today the cafe has the special. A 12oz cup is only $1 instead of a $1.25. You wouldn’t believe know knobby the customers get about that 25 cents. There are people who will only drink coffee on Wednesday to save that 25 cents. Crazy fucks. As if it matters.
How ironic that they spend the dollar just to save the 25 cents.
The Wednesday morning coffee clutch has gathered. With coffee in my own hands I eves drop. So and so is pregnant. So and so died. Such and such happened. Nothing that touches my own life, but knowing is harmless.
As I listen to the ladies talk I wonder to myself if this is how the ancients did it. A warm beverage or at least something cooking. The women gathered. The passing of information. The oral history that my generation lost with the recording of everything in the internet. Like writing on the wall. For what purpose?
One of the factories on my commute let’s out around 4am. It’s a funny thing to watch because the industrial park is right across from this residential area and there’s this line of cars exiting the parking lot of the factory and turning right into the residential area. Like a mass exodus all making a left hand turn into various avenues toward home and their beds.
I was envious that they got to go home already when I wanted nothing but to be back in my bed. Wishing for a few more moments of sleep as I drove towards work.
It’s too damn early. Waking up at 3am. Today it was particularly difficult. The worst actually than it’s been the past few weeks. I anticipate that being a consistent issue as the week goes on without our usual opener, who is on vacation…and I really hope comes back and doesn’t suddenly retire.
I’ve drank more Mountain Dew in my life this week than I think I ever have…and I mean ever. Which I’m sure isn’t a good thing. Caffeine is pretty hard on my body. I crash hard when the crash comes and I’m exhausted, which just becomes a perpetual problem throughout the day. I have to drink more to keep the crashes at bay.
At least Mountain Dew has multiple zero sugar flavors now. So the only thing affecting my blood sugars is the stress. Have I mentioned I haven’t been able to get my blood sugars below 300 mg/dl for the last week and a half? Yeah that’s been fun.
I’ve been open for 20 minutes. As Soja Boi blasts across the gym I can almost hear the collective groan. Our clientele is not exactly cut out for todays music. Often times on weekends I just play classic rock because it tends to make everyone happy. Today I agree with the groan. It is too damn early for that song. Plus it’s my least favorite. Burned out for me when it came out in my high school days and never quite redeemed its self.
I quickly take a moment to duck into the bathroom, knowing if I don’t now I won’t get a chance later when things pick up. Even my early personal trainer shouts “Go! Go now.” As she sees me b-line for the restroom door. She knows. She knows well. Plus my coffee from this morning won’t let me hold it anyway. So people will just have to wait if they need anything from me.
My coffee acts as a thin veil keeping the cranky early morning me concealed. My poor husband will see that side of me later, like he has all week and graciously loved me though all the same. This morning I miss him. I’ve hardly seen or spoke to him. If he’s home I’m sleeping or working. I can’t recall the last time we were intimate much less just able to have a fully functional convo. I’ve been too tired to brain. Too tired to be intellectual…at least out loud. To think and speak feels like too much some days. Especially when I’m exhausted like this.
I’m just really sick of being tired all the time and I’m at my wits end.
...Bag O' Magic Soup 