Retrograding Mercury is upon me. I mean, us. Obviously I don't blame this contrarian little planet for the broken microwave, the broken hot water heater, or my broken heart, but it helps to chalk up inconsistencies to the powers of the universe.
My tender heart is fractured by the wayward nature of first love. I am not yet able to see past this, for, I've never had to mend my own broken heart before. And because there is no person, place, or thing to blame (though I desperately wish there were some bottle blonde biddy to safety-pin my wrath to) I can only...exist. I can only churn out the practicalities of every day life. Eat food, brush teeth, drive to work. Resist thinking, resist starving, resist crying.
Those last two prove burdensome. A broken microwave makes for laborious dinner preparations. I get creative with meals, but twenty minutes into preheating the oven I think, wearily, All this work and I'm not even hungry. My appetite is gone--but my stomach sounds like the demagorgon in Stranger Things.
Resisting crying is infinitely more difficult. Resisting crying in such a state is like resisting breathing.
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