This is an old song, these are old blues

I wish literally anything would not be the absolute most terrifying worst for one second so I could catch my breath.

I wasn't a catch, I wasn't a keeper, I was walking around like I was the one who found dead John Cheever

I'd let myself run out of gin over the winter, being inclined to drink it as a rule and thinking it best to not have it around during my more gloomy months. But now it's spring, and I got a nice bottle for quarantine. I'm having my first martini now as out the window, the sunset cools off behind the mountains.

I have two emotions right now - the kind of anxiety where I feel every moment entirely filled with ominous foreboding, like something terrible is about to happen, and this time I won't be able to hack it. I truly don't have any strength or reserve right now. The other option is existential blankness. I'm not sure I really prefer it to the former.

Just fucking kill me.