I don’t know if writing, “blah, blah, blah” repeatedly for three paragraphs of text would be a cop-out right now or a more accurate representation of my truth than one that employs actual words. My life right now seems to be one gigantic BLAH and I find it a little nauseating. Slept till noon. Did nothing all day. Only went outside my apartment for cigarettes and to walk my dog. My life is stuck on repeat. Why oh why couldn’t my repetitive loop include sex? Or, hell, just me in the sun showered and not wearing a baseball cap? I haven’t showered since Friday. I think I just answered my own question.

This is my life. I just sat quietly for two minutes, my fingers poised over the keyboard, to see if I could let that truth sink in a bit. I think I am well defended against it and yet it’s there, screaming silently in my face. I do my best to ignore it. I crawl into bed when I need to and bury my head in a book. I think I haven’t showered because it requires a period of time, at least five minutes, in which I am not actively distracting myself from my experience of self. It’s intolerable to me right now. I stay up until 3 AM reading, my eyes pained and my vision slightly blurry, so that I don’t have to wait long with my head on the pillow before darkness claims me. Anything to keep from being in the truth that is here right now: This is my life. It is happening right now and in it, I probably stink. Literally.

I just shrugged. See how well defended I am? I will continue to act like it’s not tearing me apart inside. Like I’m not crashing around inside my own body like a desperate animal trapped in a cage. I breathe. I shrug. I read. I smoke. I eat. I walk my dog. I sleep. I try and try and try to forget. I tell myself lies like, “tomorrow will be different.” Then I wake up tomorrow at 10, stay in bed till noon, and it starts all over again. I breathe. I shrug. I read. I smoke. I eat. I walk my dog. I sleep.

I shrug. It’s all I feel capable of right now. Blah, blah, blah.