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Las hormigas pesan más que los elefantes. in Cold comfort of the in between.

  • March 18, 2016, 5:18 a.m.
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It’s getting pretty bad again. Roller coaster moments, almost every moment.

We got the tax money, but it was $1500 short because of a food stamp over payment that we took advantage of at the beginning of my job last year. Fucked us really bad. I can’t pay back my boss now, at least for the time being. A payment plan, as well as a trip to a notary to make it official are in my future. I’m ashamed, and losing what grip I have on things.

Yet, here I am, writing like a somewhat sane person. I’m really proficient at pretending to be functional. So much so that it scares me when I get to thinking about the depths of my duality.

What to do about it all? Go on disability for a third time, try to become stable enough to obtain another job, and on and on. Get our shit together to move to Washington. That’s the goal. We have a goal. We are moving sloppily towards it.

Time is moving, at least. It always does, I know that, but I can still be marveled by it.

In a little under a month I will have spent fifteen years with my husband. Ten of them being married. Eight and a half as parents. It’s too much, and just enough at the same time. How do I make sense of it?

There I go asking questions that are unanswerable again. I’m good at that too.


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