Sometimes I wish that I was a child and my mother could just make my decisions for me – then I remember that when I was a child I probably would’ve told her she was wrong and done something else anyway.
But my something else just seems to be… Nothing, now.
Living is too hard.
Getting up is hard.
Moving is hard.
I watched Sex And The City for an hour because I had to get up to reach the remote.
I swear I’m not just lazy.
Aren’t lazy people *content* in their laziness?
I want to be doing things I just never do.
I forget and I talk myself out of it and I take a four hour break for every activity I do, and the most productive thing I do is feed myself.
My default state is sitting in the same spot on the couch.
Occasionally I’ll sit in the adjacent spot if there’s too much junk on my side of the lounge.
I feel like I’m not actually living, and it’s still hard.

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