⑭→focus pocus get 'er laid / room in france for the new true maid
So things are either slowly getting better or quickly getting worse, and I'm optimistic enough to hope it might be the former, but paranoid enough to be sure it's the latter. It's a weird bunching sensation. I don't know. I feel like I'm hanging from a bungee cord, which is fine and all, but I'm not exactly sure how I got here, so it's kind of bothering me. When did I turn into a therapist, and why didn't I notice or demand a credential when it happened? And if I'm the patient and nobody's telling me, I'll fuck up somebody's shit. Swear to God.
Maybe I'm just waiting for everything to blow up.
Is that bad?





