Another birthday has passed, I’m closer now to 40 where I had always said 25 was going to be my cutoff. I have been so out of it today, there could be a few different reasons why…my medication lapsed yesterday because I didn’t renew it in time. Hopefully, it’ll be here tomorrow. My partner says I’ve been “out of it” for a while. That’s probably true. She’s become fed up with it, I think. Maybe that’s not the right word, exactly, but it’s clear my disconnects are happening too frequently and she’s stopped being concerned about it. She also told me today she believes I get conveniently sick when I want to get out of things. I don’t consciously do it but I wouldn’t put it past myself. I do tend to feel crappy a lot and it would seem the only real explanation is just that I’m a douche who uses it as a “get out of social obligations” card. I’m just boring and pretty dumb and I don’t really like to socialize. It’s hard when you’re neither intelligent or fascinating.
I’ve been tossing around this idea, lately, that I actually died back in June 25, 2015 and everything since then has just been a weird, Sartre-esque (Sartresian?) hellscape. I had a bad car accident that day and I always thought it was pretty crazy that I walked away from it; is it that far-fetched to think I didn’t?