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| Generated by Google Workspace Labs text-to-image Duet AI software |
I’m feeling bad again, but it has nothing to do with my recent infections. I’m
a week away from my first day on the job at the garden, and I’m getting really
nervous about it. I’ve been worshiping the porcelain god, as they say. Can you
imagine what a real porcelain god would be like? Of course you can’t, you gave
up religion a long time ago, because it was too interesting. That’s one upside
to living on this Earth, I guess. You somehow lost the curiosity gene, but at
least you don’t believe in a flying spaghetti monster. I was hoping that I
would be less anxious, since I’ve not encountered very many surprising people,
except for those two alien believers, but my stomach has a different idea.
When I’m not running from my life, like I was when Cricket, Claire, and I were
hopping all over the multiverse, I’m anxious all the time. That’s me, I’m full
of anxiety. Well, that and depression. I hear “brave” people in the public eye
talking about how their mental health issues are things that they’ve been
battling. But for me, it has always just been suffering. It’s not a fight,
it’s survival. There are no winners. All I can really do—after the medication
wears off, and the therapists close the door—is get through the day. Then I
get five or six hours of sleep, and wake up to get through the next day.
Listen to me, being all moody and broody about life. It’s not all that bad.
It’s not like I can remember every bad thing that has ever happened to me, and
I can’t remember many of the good things. That would be crazy, right? Ha.
Right? Who could survive that?
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