I stare off into space constantly these days, and I’m not even stoned.

I am what you would call functionally depressed. I don’t stay in bed all day, although the thought has crossed my mind. There are some days when it feels like a chore to even be awake and somewhat alert, but I make myself give it a go. The pain and the fatigue are always with me on some level, and it gets to be too much, day in and day out.

I wonder if I am just wired improperly. If I were a robot, I would need a tune-up in the worst way.

My living room rug smells like a latrine. The puppy is 50% potty trained, and she still drops a whiz or a poopy on a daily basis. We clean up after her with numerous products, but there is still the lingering smell of animal body waste in here.

I bought some of that shake on powder, and yesterday I went around the room, sprinkling it about. I let it sit for 20 minutes, then hauled out the vacuum. It took me two arms to push it. After 1 minute, I was struggling to find the strength to finish the job.

Both of my arms are sore today. And it still smells like an outhouse in here, once you get past the freshness of my Air Wick plugin.

We’re broke, and this weighs heavily on me everyday. The constant threat of losing everything that I worked so hard for hangs over my head like a dark cloud. I know realistically that I cannot work, even though I spend hours sometimes looking online for a legit work from home job. If it was that easy, everybody would be doing it.

I taught myself how to type, and it isn’t very fast. But back in my day, I could whip up a delicious lasagna.

I always have this feeling that everything is broken and the rest of my life will only prove to become more difficult to manage, more hardships inevitable.

I hide behind my humor shield. It keeps me somewhat safe, unless it starts to crack. Then my sadness seeps out.

I rush to fix the damage. I hope that I don’t run out of Silly Putty.