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What goes up must come down

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Hello there new friend.

I hope you are well today.

I'm not well at all.

It is rather inconvenient really, since I promised my husband I'd do some laundry, dishes and general tidying up around the house today.

I hate my house.

It hasn't been cleaned since I moved in. That was two months ago. I have a floor wardrobe, unsanitary dishes and my blankets are smelly. Housekeeping fail.

I love my husband.

He hasn't divorced me yet and he still tells me I'm beautiful after 10 years and 50kg's of weight gain. When I'm thinking of him I have this really bright shiny reason to live, which is useful since I've not found many reasons within myself lately.

I hate my work.

Rather I hate that the things I've achieved don't matter to me as much as the things I've started but never finished. Like writing, learning an instrument, keeping to a budget, figuring out how to keep a house, having a balanced relationship, learning to be independant, getting and keeping a job.

I like the pool.

It has crap in it at the moment because the landlord is a goof, but the water is at least clear and looks inviting. It will be summer soon, which gives me a small point of light. Pity it invites me to drown as often as it invites me to swim.

I hate my body

It hurts to live, every day. Usually it just hurts in my body. Those are the good days. Sometimes it hurts in my mind. Those are the days I don't make it out of bed. I look at my friends all around me and I wish I can start over with a new body like you do in video games and choose one that isn't broken in so many ways. I really have to work quite hard to bite down on the resentment sometimes I feel toward healthy people.

I love people.

Even though I'm always the last one picked. Even though I'm lonely in the crowd. I think people are awesome. Sometimes I wish I could tell them all how beautiful I think they are and how sad it makes me when they don't love themselves, which is ironic since right now I think I suck.

I hate ennui.

That feeling where everything that matters to you is drained from you and flows into the mattress of my bed, where it pools and begins to smell of decay. I really, really want to clean my house. I also really really don't want to get so disheartened and overwhelmed that I decide that drowning is easier than swimming. What with the pool being so close and all. So I've decided to strike an uneasy middle ground : I stare belligerently at the housekeeping that needs doing and the script that needs writing and the shopping that needs buying...and it stares back, quietly, not launching into the usual accusatory remarks that it so effectively evokes in my mind.

And so we have a stalemate.

Hate and Love.

I hate my life.

I love my life.

I can't decide which one should win.

So I pull my blanket over me again and snuggle down in my jammies at 5pm and I go to the one place where you don't have to choose for or against life - The Internet.

Only...that is just delaying the choice, in a smoking a couple of cigarettes a day kind of way. Doing nothing will kill me eventually too.

I'm just hoping tomorrow it won't hurt to live, and I'll get enough work done to buy me another day in bed.
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