My dad insisted I call the plumber right away when he decided he didn’t like how my bathtub was draining. I tried to refuse, because it just drains slow, always has, but then my washing machine line sprung a leak.
Because, I’m sure, the house was finally rejecting this shitty ass washing machine. But anyway, I called the plumber on Friday.
Because he’s awesome, he sent a kid out today. Right now.
And I have, apparently, messed up the whole morning by having the plumber come at an inconvenient time.
Insert eye-roll here.
The hardest part about it is that all the shittiness I feel manifests itself in me feeling like I’m gross. Like my body is so disgusting and that me being out in public is some kind of freak show spectacle. Like I am grossing people out by being where they can see me.
So, it’s like, I have to steel myself to run this emotional marathon with my people and do so while my mind tells me that I am imposing on the world by being a part of it, so maybe I should just find a way to be all kinds of smaller and less present and easier to stand.
It really makes me mad how my brain, when I need it to be the strongest and most on my side, is like “yep, we suck. Suck, suck, suck.”
Tiny Cat Pants 