I should be crying about the Alcoholic but I haven't. At least not yet? Am I that dead inside now?
He has no right to expect me to save his ass. He abandoned me so many times when I needed him, not the least of which was when I was pregnant. It's not my duty as a woman to shield him from the pandemic. I've got my own life to worry about and I'm done investing in ungrateful entitled alcoholics who think I owe them something and make survival harder for me. I don't owe men shit. Being alone shouldn't feel like this much of a relief.
I am looking forward to another good long 6 month solitude session. It turned out to be really healthy last time. Men brought problems, as if that was any surprise. I'm just a born hermit I guess. It's a good thing, since, like, pandemic. Maybe I'll be the last survivor. The meek shall inherit the earth, right?
I gotta stay clever and inspired about how to keep boredom at bay so I won't resort to males who make me need recovery time after all the microaggressions and sexism and mantrums. Last time boredom didn't really hit until the 6th month or so. But I need a game plan so I don't repeat this dumb pattern. I made progress though! 6 months of solitude is incredible! And it felt good.
So I'm going to make a goal. I am going to buckle the eff down. I am going to love myself HARD and I am going to feed myself good things and move my body and most of all, I am going to CREATE EVERY DINGLE DAY. I will explore new things and be as curious as I can be within the confines of a pandemic. I will take my damn self to the beach when I feel like it. I will be filled with gratitude and embrace any and every healthy thing that lifts me up.
I'm listening to my feminist playlist and it is bringing me relief. I am recharging. I am returning to myself.
2:02 p.m. - 2020-07-21