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⬅️ Previous capture (2022-04-28)
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These past few months haven't exactly been the most delightful. They've been necessary, sure, but lying in bed and recovering from having the rotted, decayed teeth ripped from your skull isn't the ideal vacation. I have the vague memory of crouching over a 4L tub of ice cream like a crazed goblin because it was the only thing I could eat. My stomach never felt full on the nights after surgery.
On top of that, the house has been in various states of disarray, and there's been no source of income. We haven't been self-sustaining. This fact tires me, wears me out, and slices me apart while I try to catch my breath.
I'm tired of fighting for a chance for a good life. This has always been the struggle of the working class, hasn't it? I keep getting the urge to apply for labour jobs again. I can't do labour right now, not without dentures. I wouldn't be able to keep up with the calorie deficit, and I'd waste away.
I've exhausted my supply of nicotine again. The cravings are itching at me every hour. I sit in place and squirm as my breath hitches, then quickens. The anxiety wriggles in my chest like some sort of fucked-up rat king. I could go beg downtown for a dart, but then I'd be one of *those* poors, and that doesn't sit well with the internalized classism.