Venting Contributing to the family pot

[Concorde]

I'm just bitching but.

My partner's back after a couple weeks away. Hasn't noticed all the closets I've cleared out. In our one-bedroom apartment.

The straw the broke the camel's back and brought me here was losing half my income in November.

Anyway the partner, who did not notice me packing my bags—one giant, ancient, no-wheels suitcase to go—and throwing away hundreds of pounds of history and heirlooms for a future I haven't been going to have for a very long time, the same partner who mentioned I need to start contributing more to the family pot.

Yes, it is ultra tacky for me to wonder why he can't read my mind and why I can't communicate with him without putting in the work. Nevertheless, I'm acting like he's being unreasonable for being unable and uninterested in reading my mind.

 

[Concorde]

And I have sodium nitrite hidden in three spots and metoclopramide hidden in one spot. Just find them and ask me, please.

And then give me your blessing and encouragement and please let me go.

Why'd C get cancer and K get hit by a car and A and J and P and C somehow overdose on accident and how'd R, at about my age, somehow die of like pneumonia? I wish I believed in a micromanaging god so I could lodge a complaint.

When I was a kid, I thought I was invincible and immortal.

As a teen, I learned otherwise.

Turns out I was right, though. I somehow can't easily die and somehow when a bunch of my peers got HIV/AIDS, I didn't. I am invincible. It's awful. And besides my peace of mind, which was very mortal, my body is immortal. Also awful.