like yeah like totally

aking a bunch of adderall used to make me feel like a really special person, but the whole things been spoiled now that I’m 26 years old… now that I’m dating a man who kinda mogs me with his real-world-grown-up-alcoholism… now that every other reel I see on insta is always some woman (who looks younger than me) with a corporate law job who won’t ever shut the fuck up about her “adult ADHD” diagnosis and how her life just makes sooooo much more sense to her now that she gets to do speed everyday. I don’t have a fucking job. I still live with my parents. And I’m really strung out right now. My face is all scratchy. It’s like 11 PM and I’m pissed because my boyfriend decided to call me. We haven’t talked all day. I can’t text him whenever I ditch school because I don’t wanna risk tripping up and saying something that makes him suspicious, blowing my cover, or whatever. The last thing I want to do is talk to my drunk boyfriend about all the reasons I’m flunking out of grad school. Jesus Christ I’ve suffered enough. I’m tired and it feels like I’m a really really bad person.

He says hi, making his voice all pretend-small for me. He’s very drunk and neither of us are gonna say anything about it. Talking like a shy widdle baby is his way of conceding. I ask if he had a good day off and I sound like a girl.

“I did. I had a really fun day. And I finally beat my game.” he’s outside smoking, there’s a group of screaming drunk black girls leaving the bar next to his building. I ask him what Red Dead’s ending was like. He’s been playing it for months. “Well, I got the bad ending. So it was just my guy having like a vision of a wolf.”

That was the ending?

More Black girl noise and my boyfriend says “yeah but now I’m playing the epilogue, and it’s really long, so.” He didn’t actually finish the game if there’s an epilogue that he still has to do. And it doesn’t seem like he‘s going to explain to me what the epilogue’s about either. This is all sort of annoying in a far off way that’d make me a total cunt if I openly complained. He asks about my night.


“Wait, lemme go back inside.” He makes a lot of noise opening his door and I don’t wait for it to stop.

Well I rubbed my mom’s back for $40 and we watched the Brooke Shields documentary on Hulu—talking like a kid—and it was like pretty OK. It was fun to hear my mom reminisce about her life in the 80s. And for some reason I feel like my mom can hear everything I’m saying right now, her room is directly below mine, and I want her to think that I’m kind and that I’m sweet and that I’m a good kid and a good person. And nowwww, cringing already, I’m about to go to bed :(

I decide not to add a yawn at the end and I kinda congratulate myself for being so cunning and natural. There’s this British-Indian chick I always see on YouTube shorts, she’s always got a sloppy blonde wig on her head and all she ever talks about is how she’s a ~diagnosed sociopath~ and right now she’s all I see in my mind. I hear her squeaky little voice. I think she sells courses or something.

“Oh,” my bf thinks I should feel bad for wanting to hang up and I guess I’m fine with him feeling that way. I guess I agree. “OK.” Pouting, but he doesn’t push the issue. “I will see you tomorrow then?”

I love you sooooo, soooo much. I feel bad about my shitty attitude. That I’m always complaining, and joyless, and thinking everything is tense when it isn’t. goodnight baby I love love love you sooo much. I’m a shy widdle baby. I can’t wait to see you tomorrow and I wish I was there now annnnnd I guess goodnight~ He says it back finally so I shut the fuck up. It’s a good feeling.

I popped another ER capsule before getting into bed; that way I could nap for only an hour or two and wake back up with the rush already starting. But I get distracted reading through the unopened fascist Substack essays clogging up my inbox. I don’t ever really understand anything they talk about. And then I read a long exposé from a few years ago about the OneTaste orgasm cult. I was following all those newly-outed sex cults a few years ago, that exciting time when all those different sex cults kept getting exposed, I followed all those cases very closely, and somehow I had never heard of this one before. My sheets smell sour. It seems unfair to me that their whole OneTaste operation was centered around clitoral stimulation. I get indignant, thinking about how I could’ve never been a victim of this cult. I kinda giggle to myself like, this is exclusionary! But for some reason I feel genuinely stung working it out in my head. I wouldn’t have had any interest in paying thousands of dollars for a scam meditation course about flicking some woman’s clit over and over and over again. If I was there I would’ve missed out entirely. I try to conjure up the image of a hypothetical fags-only sexual wellness cult, and I think that it sounds really vulgar and disgusting. It doesn’t sound appealing to me at all. It sounds really really fucking disgusting to me.
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