The Doomer edit of Lithium ^^, I'm sorry 

Currently, I'm working on a couple of writing things. Chapter 26 of NSH, a bonus chapter of BOATS where Finn and Kai have their first date, and a thing in this journal called "I kissed a boy." But that sort of turned into me writing about drinking, sexuality, and shame as concepts, with only the very begining of the story I want to tell actually written out. 

I think this is because I want to write an essay about drinking, because,  as someone who's been on Wattpad since 2015, I've been writing stories about young adults drinking or falling in love or fighting far before I had any actual lived experience with alcohol or romance or much, really.

And that's cool, I used a lot of people's written accounts to help me. And I would like to catalog my experiences the same way. I'd be lying if I said my first swig of beer didn't come out of the desire of knowing what it's like so I could write more accurately, which uh, may not be good?

See, this is why I'm a big fan of subtly and stuff. The dork who stays home/ the cool person who goes to parties really isn't that simple when you take into account people like me who commit all the vices so I can write little fantasy stories. The cool person/dork dichotomy is a lot more complex and a lot less...real, the older you get and the more people you meet.

So so so I want to write about drunkness as vividly as I can remember so you curious fellas don't either go sucking down liquor like I did, or reference movies or other Wattpad books written by kids who've never experienced the strange hell that is getting into a drinking competition that ends in having a dysphoric meltdown while vomiting in front of a suddenly very attractive...guy....which makes yourealizethingsaboutyourself. Just, give me a second. A long second.

For the past four days I've been waking up late into the day with no energy to move. I eventually drag myself out of bed, make coffee, take a long walk at midnight, and then crawl back into bed to rewatch old Supermega videos. What made me write this was the sudden realization I had about twenty minutes ago, around six a.m. I was just sitting there while the doomer version of Lithium played in the backgroud, cramming pork rinds into my mouth while stark naked because I didn't feel like putting on a fucking shirt

The realization: Am, I, like okay?

I feel like this entire quarentine I've been climbing moutains and dropping into valleys, becoming my peak self, someone I can be proud of, and then de-evolving into something that isn't a person. The only way to describe how I feel is "goop." Like human slime.

I've written a fuck-ton, hell, had a 10k word day, which I didn't think was possible. I've helped my roommate move out nearly single-handedly and became the cleanest, most responsible dad-ish figure I know as I guided friends through the ins and outs of acquiring an apartment and balancing a budget. I've made so many calls, cleaned an already clean apartment dozens of times, and wrote one of my most scathing pieces yet— my job application to the place that almost terminated me for being trans. Honestly, I think I suck at writing, but I'm proud of that one (and shocked I got accepted for an interview).

And then there's me, every month, losing it. I stop writing and elect to sleep as much as humanly possible, ranging 10-12 hours,  I rampage the kitchen, drinking gallons of stawberry lemonade directly from the container, responding to other humans with only grunts and "mmhmm"s. Fuck answering my phone; if you want me you can slam on my door.

Am I okay? Are we okay?

Now that stores and restaurants are starting to open up again, I think a lot of us aren't feeling the quarantine blues as much as we used to. But I know I'm still going through them. They hit me every so often, and it doesn't feel like depression as much as it does getting flattened under a steamroller; like I'm just goop, like all my articulate thoughts have been stretched and stretched like dough under a rolling pin, thinned until they start to tear. "In this story, I'd like to discuss....fuck....I....don't care....hungry...pork rinds good..."

I'm going to escape this funk, I think. I've done it before, although I've never quite gotten to doomer Lithium and nakedly-eating-pork rinds levels of funk. I'm not exactly okay now, and I'm not exactly okay when I pretend to be responsible and vacuum already vacuumed carpet. But I got through this piece, so that's a good sign, and though I'll probably go to sleep, when I wake I think I'll be ready to work on something creative.

I've got this, we've got this. And at least now I'm wearing pants.