Cold substrate in The Devil Beneath My Feet

The mist this morning was really pretty. Tis’ the season, and the smell outside is incredible. If I could bottle the smell of fresh dirt, dead leaves and mycelium I’d bathe in it. See, I can be happy.

I woke up after spending a lot of the night thinking and did a cursory search for a therapist, got frustrated quickly and have since…not given up, I guess, but pushed it off some more.

It’s stupid - a lot of websites include photos of the person and for the area where I live every one of them unsurprisingly looks like a crunchy granola dickhead that I don’t wanna talk to.

The few that don’t are not accepting new clients.

And pretty much all of them are ONLY available via virtual visits which is not something I’m interested in in the slightest. I share my house with my boyfriend and there are no spare rooms, downstairs is an open floor plan and upstairs is a loft, so virtual visits are fuckin OUT, period.

Besides which I’m paranoid - how do I know you’re alone? That’s dumb, I know it’s dumb, alright, whatever.

So I’m not necessarily giving up, but for the time being I’m returning to the familiar comfort of “just get through the day” that’s worked well enough in the past.

I did good with food for a while but I’m coming back now to that “I’m hungry but eating seems like such a fucking chore” shit that served pretty much exclusively to piss me off for like 2 months. Grr.

Suppose I’ll eat some nuts or something grazeable.