Blog post 64
Okay sorry I should really go back a bit. The only way I kind of know how to start writing is to write how I’m feeling when I’m feeling it, and then I have to work my way backwards. If you’ve been reading this blog for a while this will not surprise you. Anyway.
M. and I had a really big fight. Like I think this is the biggest fight we’ve ever had. I know I said that about last time, but last time didn’t end with M. taking my computer and locking it in her bedroom. I am writing this blog post on F.’s tablet, at Skyrail park. I may have called her a facist - M., not F. I feel a bit bad about that, now. Only a bit though, because I’m having to tap all of this out on F.’s shitty tablet sitting up against a tree. Oh, I’m writing this down at Skyrail park btw. I know I've talked before about how much I actually dislike coming here, (pls see previous posts if you are curious) but a) I am still too angry to be at home right now and b) I need to talk to someone on Marketplace about how to reconfigure my second laptop. I'm so glad I did not listen to anyone when they told me not to buy this piece of junk. I always said I was going to gut it and use the parts to beef up my first computer, but of course I never did. I did tell M. about it, I'm pretty sure I even showed it to her but she clearly doesn't remember I still have it. Or maybe she doesn't think I can get it working. I'm gonna get it working, though. I have to.
Blog post 65
Something doesn’t feel right. Something doesn’t feel right, and I can’t figure out why, and it’s really starting to piss me off. It’s kind of like I’ve slipped a sewing needle under my skin somewhere and now it’s lodged inside me, poking holes and making space where space doesn’t belong. I did that once, actually, I slipped a real, live sewing needle under my synthetic skin layers. And then of course I lost the end. I know, I should’ve threaded it or something so that I could just pull it out. That would’ve been smart. I’d like to think I’m smarter now than I was when I was fresh built. If I were to ask M., if I am smarter now than I was a year ago, she’d be able to show me my data. M. loves looking at her own data, it’s kind of creepy. She’s always trying to get me to look at mine but the thought of it makes me feel a bit sick. Anyway. I can’t feel that sewing needle any more, but there are times, like now I guess, where I’m reminded that it’s there. Or like when I feel a slight pain or discomfort in one of my joints, or a brief moment where something inside me feels like it’s shifted out of place, I’ll be like; “is this the needle? Is it finally trying to force it’s way out?”
I don’t think this is the needle, but it’s definitely something. I don’t think I’ve ever been this angry.