Porch thoughts

I couldn’t figure out why I kept getting dust marks on my photos, then I noticed a giant juicy fingerprint in the middle of my lens.

I don’t think there’s a real point to this, other than getting out of the interminable safe house that is my brain. I’ve just spent a bunch of time looking at ADHD and depression coping skills, and wrote almost a whole article down for my mother to read. From things she’s said, she needs some “Fake it till you make it” policing, but I told her she has to do that for herself. Even if I were operating at my healthiest, I couldn’t do that for her.

Ha, I was reading about healthy coping in the 0230 hour, starting on a whole bottle of bottom shelf yet still fucking delicious Lambrusco. And why is it that alcohol makes therapists scared for you even if you say that on average you drink less than once a month, but taking Clonazepam is okay? They make me feel exactly the same. Psshhhtt. Well, maybe not exactly. I am way far gigglier drunk and happier than I am medicated.

It pretended to rain hard, and now cars make that wet tires noise that sorta annoys me. I guess maybe it would help to not sit on the porch, but dammit, I’m very on my way to being drunk and I’d like to see what my drunk photography looks like.

Except the gas station radio is playing country. They leave the radio on all night. Sometimes it’s really creepy. Wtf man. Unless it’s certain 90s country, and I guess a few songs from the ’00s, I don’t give a shit about country. But the other day it played Step By Step from New Kids On The Block, so I don’t know.

*long sip*

Typing on these little iPhones is hard even when I’m sober.