Rant blah blah blah༄˖°.🍂.ೃ࿔*:･

     I don’t want to do anything. I mean anything. I don’t want to hear music. I don’t want to take a bath. I don’t want to eat, brush my teeth, or put on socks.(but I will ) I’m tired of it. I don’t want to get pulled into some stupid conversation where I have to figure out what to say and how to say it. My environment is going to act how it acts no matter what I do. I want to change it, but I can’t. Do this. Do that. Don’t talk like this. Don’t act like that. Adjust yourself. Deny yourself. Put on your socks.
     I think it’s called depression, but maybe it isn’t. How long can you have depression before it just feels like what you are? Fifty years? You don’t notice the Earth spinning because it never stops. Maybe something can go on so long that you stop recognizing the movement. It’s just the ground beneath your feet.
     Over time, everything stacks up. I don’t want to do this sits on top of this isn’t working out, which sits on top of I don’t know why I keep trying. And standing on top of all that, I do the dishes. Standing on top of I don’t know what to do anymore, I vacuum. Standing on top of I wish people would leave me alone, I dust and take out the trash.
Except I don’t think I want people to leave me alone. So why am I saying it? I don’t know. Sorting it out is another thing to do. Sometimes you just want to sit still without having to explain the sitting. But somebody’s coming home, or somebody isn’t coming home, and either way, there’s something to think about.
     On top of all this, I check the mail. I do my work. I feed my cats. They gather around their bowls like we’ve never done this before, like breakfast was an unconfirmed rumor(they're so cute) until I walked into the kitchen. I try to be friendly to everybody. I come home and Iput my hat in the same place. There’s something nice about knowing where my hat is, even when I don’t know much else.
     But if I hear the word “actually” one more time, I’m going to throw up. Dude. “A coffee pot that actually works.” Where do these people think I’m living? My coffee pot works. My speakers work. My shoes work. My phone works. What is this imaginary household where I’ve been sitting barefoot in silence, holding a broken phone and waiting for somebody to invent a coffee pot that actually works?(wtf)
     “A mug you actually enjoy.” Oh my gosh. Like I’ve spent my whole life buying mugs I hate. Every morning, another miserable cup of coffee out of some mug I despise, until somebody comes along to rescue me. Come on, y’all. My stuff works. I like my mug. Let me drink out of it.
      And I hate ranting. Complaining used to seem fun. Now I can hear myself winding up and think, oh man, we’re doing this? Blah blah blah.  Even I don’t want to sit through it. I’d rather sit down with my perfectly functional coffee and let the cats settle wherever they’ve decided to settle. P-roni will probably get in the place on the couch where I usually sit and I'll have to get him to scooch over some. 
     Well, Wednesday is pizza day. There is that. I don’t want to make too much of it, but I am looking forward to a little pizza. Somebody asking which kind we got is true music to me and everybody drifting into the kitchen.
     It just, “Here, dude. Get some while it’s hot.” We can sit around, eat, and let Wednesday finish being Wednesday. I don’t have everything sorted out. But there’s pizza coming, and I’m glad.