An Average Day

Standard

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.

No?

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.

That’ll do.

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.

F*U*C*K!!!!

Every Day !!

Every Day !!

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