Since I lost my job in early December, I have days that are defined and controlled by my *Asthma*.
Getting out of bed is a battle I have with my own mind.
Finding the energy to have a shower.
Searching for the willpower to look for clean clothes to wear after finally get out of the shower – are yesterday’s clothes clean enough? Is four days in a row too much?
Getting out of chair, after I finally get dressed.
Trying to decide if there is easy-to-eat food that I can have for breakfast.
Do I have enough money to buy something to eat?
Can I be bothered driving to get some food?
Is having McDonald’s for breakfast – again – a good idea?
Wait, the staff there will recognise me, it’s too embarrassing – I’ll have to think of something else.
Is there any other drive-through in town?
Fuck! I’ll have to go to the shops.
What has no sugar and doesn’t need cooking? A box of pizza shapes and a bottle of lucozade.
Fuck the traffic is shit. Why are drivers such selfish assholes?
These pizza shapes suck – there’s not enough flavour pellets on the biscuits. Tight ass bastards!
I should do something creative. That will get me out of this funk.
I can’t be fucked getting out of this chair.
My back hurts. I can’t sit here much longer.
Maybe I should go back to bed.
It’s 11am – if you go back to bed, you’ll stay there all day and you won’t sleep tonight and then tomorrow you will feel even worse.