There's no enjoying the New Year when your mouth decides to conjure a cankerous sore in the middle of the festivities out of nowhere. Add to that the bloodworks, and the general dampened feeling of egg-not-reaching-fruition. So this was what the past few days had been about and that's depressing, and nice, actually. We live for realizations and how much these things tell us about our "real" selves. So me I'm irrational, moody, needy, selfish, all the bad, ugly stuff we hate about ourselves when we're in the deep end, but this only happens once a month, but every month, and that is the sad truth about that.
day I'll be able to control the swings much better. Maybe. We're a
secretly superstitious lot and I wonder sometimes what this means for me
for the rest of this year. If this were a fucking metaphor I hope I get
a regular mouth sore from too much kissing.