There’s nothing weird between my mood and that gun; I just think of the name of it and the flavor text when bizarre and absurd and incredibly dumb sh*t happens to me.

This morning had all three.

I have never felt less like writing, generally. It’s not going anywhere. I keep doing it, almost obsessively, but it feels like a fruitless chore. Yay. Site traffic has been down for a while, and it sucks. I try to get people engaged, and it fails.

Today, I have no filter.

I also wonder why people are great at supporting huge things online like Post-It Notes and yet they can’t be bothered to throw a like to something their friend(s) might be working on. I never understand this. Even if I’m not particularly interested in what someone is doing, I want to be supportive. Please be supportive of your friends’ endeavors. It means more than you will ever know.

This morning I got called a c*nt. For real. And the weirdest part: it was in a sticker swap group I’m a part of. I didn’t see it coming and I didn’t deserve to be called that. I’m still upset. I don’t know why people think they can talk to other people that way.

My anxiety and depression are doing really badly. I’m hanging in there, but it’s been terrible.

I feel like everyone hates me all the time and that I’m nothing but a burden. Yay! Please note the amusing “yay!” to offset the horrible feelings.

I have no idea why I keep writing. What makes it worthwhile are the times I’m actually doing what I set out to do, which is connect with people. I ask questions of the reader in nearly every single piece and there’s a reason for that: I genuinely want to know what people are thinking about the topic at hand. If you read what I write (first of all, thank you), and you comment and discuss, you sustain me. Your interaction means more than you will ever know. I know I’ve said it before, but it bears repeating. It’s colossal to me. Jurassic thank you.

Please feel free to always ask me questions, too!

I have been so unproductive lately that I’ve practically ceased to be a functioning human. It’s embarrassing and feels pathetic.

I feel unthought of so much. I feel unimportant and small. Do I exist at all?

I used to be good at things. I used to be on a track to bigger and better things. Now, I am just here. Just…HERE.

I’m grateful to be here, in the grand sense of the word, but I’m also crushed by the weight of seemingly not being able to see things through to fruition.

I’m in a weird and loose (not sexually, just mentally) mood and I’m tired of always trying to be understanding when it doesn’t feel like a lot of people are of me. I’m by no means in a Falling Down mood (I hope I’m never in that mood) but I’m tired of largely being only of use to people if they need something. I think I matter, too? I hope I matter, too.

I’m stressed to the max, folks. There’s a lot more to it than what’s here, but there it is.

Stream of consciousness, indeed.

Please be safe out there, friends. And thank you, so much, for being supportive and being here. Truly.