(no subject)

The fish are dead. The fish are super dead and I still need to find a way to bring up the subject of moving to my mother, now in full awareness that she hates the idea, thinks it's screwing up, and thinks I should settle in at my grandmother's indefinately.

The fish are fucking skeletons, the spoons are entirely gone, my head is splitting and I don't know what to do with anything and I still have to present as a rational, sane creature to everyone around me for the undefinable future.

(no subject)

why is it I can't tag, write my polybigbang, or write anything else that's been in my head for weeks now

but I can sit down and pound out 2k of Bucky Barnes learning about the spoon theory in about 90 minutes.

and now I sincerely doubt I can write anything else. the fucking hell, brain.

(we're not talking about the rest of it. I am gonna cry and scream and bite things if I keep thinking about the rest of it, so tonight, I get to Not Think About The Rest Of It. and that's not healthy or what I should be doing, but I also? should not flip my shit in front of my mother while I try to convince her I can handle life out on my own.)

(or maybe I should and she can just give up on me completely and then I can do whatever I want.)