Refrigerator - Layou




A lot of people have been asking if I’m all right lately. I’m not. So I’ve responded to almost no one, and I don’t feel great about that. But it’s not the sort of thing I’m generally truthful about. It’s one of my most dishonest qualities. Sometimes I’d wonder how I could joke with customers all day but it’s a skill I developed in junior high and high school, when I was learning that some people who told the truth about their feelings got to go special places I had no interest in being. Between writing for the paper and sending a collection of autobiographical experiences called Hookers, Blow, and Existentialism all over the country I’ve made a lot of my most personal and regrettable information pretty readily available and it feels to me like a lot of people have seen that shit. I’m pretty honest. But when it comes to my mental health I lie. A lot. What are people supposed to do, feel bad with me? I don’t make a really rosy presentation but I generally won’t go further than to say I’m depressed, or admit to the extent later. I understate and leave a lot of shit out.
There’s no reason for this fridge. I have money, a car, family, and friends. My mom dropped some food off today. But a lot of times I can’t make myself talk to anyone, and a few years ago I ordered a pizza and the side of marinara I got was all huge and it was going to be way too many questions to make sure that didn’t happen again so a while ago I went to bed instead of ordering food and it took at least 24 hours to actually order a pizza and I ate that for like a week. Which had been an improvement.
I’ve started poking around about trying to get out of Alaska by fall. I’ve gotten a little direction and I feel better than I have in a while. I am one tiny notch above hopelessness. But I don’t think another winter here will work out.
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