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There is a strange sort of release, though, in so many worst-case-scenarios coming true all at once like this, even more so when there's nothing I can do to change any of it. I guess I spend so much time worrying about what could go wrong, and the worry is somehow so much worse that it's a relief, in a way, to just have it all go wrong and face irrefutable proof that at least it hasn't killed me.
My response to shitty days is apparently not alcohol (which kills a few worries there) but a very different sort of mental escape, aka celluloid gay men. B and I rented some Queer as Folk, season one, which was nice because I've seen very little of the first season. B has seen most of the first season and very little of the second or third seasons, so I interrupted frequently to inform her of Dr. David's vast inferiorities as compared to Ben, and to squeal over Ted and Emmett's pre-couple best friend cuteness. Actually I always squeal over Emmett, because he is truly just the most adorable bearer of xy chromosomes ever.
My response to shitty days is apparently not alcohol (which kills a few worries there) but a very different sort of mental escape, aka celluloid gay men. B and I rented some Queer as Folk, season one, which was nice because I've seen very little of the first season. B has seen most of the first season and very little of the second or third seasons, so I interrupted frequently to inform her of Dr. David's vast inferiorities as compared to Ben, and to squeal over Ted and Emmett's pre-couple best friend cuteness. Actually I always squeal over Emmett, because he is truly just the most adorable bearer of xy chromosomes ever.