Archive for July, 2018


Posted in depression with tags , , , on July 30, 2018 by morgueticiaatoms

Yesterday’s epic FAIL with humanity and an attempt at interpersonal interaction put me in bed before 9 p.m. because, yes, sometimes, you are just too sad to be awake. Today I woke up (well, the third time I woke, anyway) at 6:20 and went into instant panic attack mode. I had soo hoped the whole thing yesterday was a bad dream, that I hadn’t given some pervert my number and learned he wasn’t a nice friendly cashier at a store I frequent but instead a sexting after an hour pervert….Realizing it was reality just didn’t set my day into good motion mentally.

So while I do still dwell on it, unwillingly cos scumbag brain is just a dick that way, I have managed to dig back to my long ago roots and find a way to cheer myself up. And that is by watching the Syfy show “Eureka” from episode one. Oh how I love the quirk of that series, the way it melds both sci-fi and the best and worst of human nature. The way it builds characters who are heros, villains, and everything in between. Best part is…NOT A DICK PICTURE TO BE SEEN OR EVEN A MENTION OF SUCH A THING.

In some ways, camera phones have wrecked whatever civility people had left. Honestly, back when you had to take film in to be developed, people were more circumspect in the type of pictures they let the store employees look at. Now with cell phone cameras…it’s no holds barred. “Hey, you gave me your number, you MUST be demanding I send you pictures of my junk!!!!” One would think yesterday was the first time I had encountered this (appalling) trend but alas it’s not. It’s just my former experience with someone sending inappropriate pics, and asking for the same, was between me and someone I had history with and had known 20 years. And I never wanted dick pics, never wanted to send any sort of nasty pics of myself, but it seems so prevalant these days I was once again put on the defensive and made to feel uptight and prudish for opting out.

On the opt out part, let me just say…While I wasn’t the ‘victim’ of the nasty break up that resulted in naked pics being uploaded to a revenge porn site, I was the ‘ex’ of the uploader who told me I was lucky I didn’t piss him off that much cos there was some 35 mm undeveloped film somewhere in his basement…(Lingerie pics, not nudes, and tastefully, not pornographically done, but still…um, no.) I don’t care how good you look, how much you have to be proud of in your nudity, some shit you should keep to yourself for at least a date or two. Thanks to camera phones….NOPE.

Yeah, I am probably gonna harp on this for awhile, forgive me, but man…I was trying so hard to put myself out there and it’s not easy with my social issues, baggage, moods, and anxieties…so the smack down of a sexting pervert kind of knocked me for a loop. And brought my already low mood and high anxiety to new lows and highs. I’d sooooo hoped it was all a bad fucking dream. That I was back in my safe non-sexting-assaulted bubble.

I mean, now I have to find a new store to go to because I am so wonky the awkwardness of encountering this guy would probably make me hurl. And that blows because their prices are way cheaper than other stores but I have to regroup before I can go back *there*. I know I am giving him too much power over me and letting him basically win, but it’s not forever. It’s just…well, maybe after pms week. Or maybe after a med change or dose increase. Or…IDK, but removing myself from the situation until I am in a less “stabby,sobby” place seems wise. I thought he seemed so decent, I mean, pretty girls come and go, especially working with the public. That he seemed interested even after two years…

I was a fucking moron, thinking it meant he was interested in me as a person, in more than tits and ass. My bad.

Not gonna give up, but definitely gonna retreat.

And enjoy the quirkiness of watching Eureka where they may have near nuke explosions and shit but…ha, no dick pics, forced sexting, and the people are a mixture of decent, suckage, and fun.

All without ever pulling down their pants.

Dick Pics, Uninvited Sexting Attempts, and WTF Is Wrong With People????

Posted in anxiety disorders, depression with tags , , , , , on July 29, 2018 by morgueticiaatoms

Well the donor left 7 years ago and while he’s had a revolving door of chicks he’s shacked up with and gotten engaged to…my dabbling at ‘dating’ has been few and far between because I am surrounded by mentally deficient man children whose idea of asking me out is, “Maybe we can get together when you’re not busy doing the kid thing.” Not.busy.doing.the.kid.thing. Like being a mom is a fricking hobby. LOSERS. So I gave up and purposely started sending out ‘fuck off’ vibes the last few years.

But it’s been forcefed down my throat by therapists and family and friends that I can’t get a life if I’m not willing to put myself out there so today, I did just that and gave my number to a guy who’s a cashier at a store I frequent. He’s been checking me out and chatting me up for 2 years and I just rolled the dice.

Within an hour…without my indicated ANY interest in such a thing…he sent me a picture of him with his pants down and offered to send more.

OMG, what the fuck? I know I am old and out of it but when did this become civilized, just sending a pic of your junk to someone whose number you’ve had all of an hour????I don’t parade around in skimpy clothes, I am always with my kid, I don’t go around endorsing porn and talking about how awesome sexting is (cos it’s so common it’s actually become pretty lame, especially for people over 40 to be doing it randomly)….On what planet did I send out a vibe that I wanted a pic of his junk???????

I am far from a prude. I was always the crotchless panty thigh high stocking girl in the bedroom when I was comfortable with someone and had some feelings. I am not afraid to get my freak on.

I am, however, and always have been, put off by porno movies, nudie mags, and yes, pictures of people’s junk. I like imagination, I like the routine and ritual of getting to know someone (or at least getting wasted first). I am more into erotica, things left to be discovered. Sensuality over skankiness. Maybe my age is showing but I’ve been this way since my teens when my sister was oggling an issue of Playgirl with naked rock stars and I was just like, ugh, don’t wanna see. Not that I don’t appreciate good looking men (or women) but like I said, sensuality and a little mystery over skankiness.

And this guy just kept going on about how he thinks I am sexy and have nice ‘titties’ (god I hate that fucking word) and I made it clear I was uncomfortable, put it out there that I don’t do the naked pics thing, and….not a word since. And I think I am relieved more than offended. If this is what putting myself out there amounts to, then fuck it, I will die alone. He claimed to be a shy person but um, no, I don’t think sending a dic pic an hour after you get the number is shy. Maybe my dictionry hasn’t been updated to the current skanky standards. I wasn’t expecting roses and romance, but dear god…a dic pic an hour out??????

Needless to say that wrecked my mood and I am already pms-y so I am again counting hours until bedtime. My kid has been at her grandpa’s all day (they go around and tell everyone she’d rather be at their house than home and she spends all her time there when in fact, she’s there maybe ten hours a week, delusional fucks) but I can’t sleep, I just feel so damned naive and silly giving out my number only to…be assaulted with something I didn’t ask for. And he didn’t warn me or even ask if I’d be interested so it was an assault on my eyeballs. Shame, I thought he was a nice guy. Maybe he is and I’m just too damn retro to fit into the current sexting hook up culture. But I am not changing for anyone, this is me, fuck off if you don’t like it.

Adding insult to injury, I wanted to make a trip for groceries and scraped up 50% in coins for gas money but my car only gets 26 miles hwy so I needed to be able to put a full gallon in the tank. I asked dad and stepmonster if I could borrow ONE DOLLAR, for gas, and they said no, if I needed to go so bad, they’d take me. OMG, I’m 45 years old, I don’t want to be carted around like a child. And how is them spending $6 on gas to town cheaper than giving me a measly fucking dollar?


It could be the hormones but it all makes me want to cry. Because the state of humanity is so sad but I’m the one made to feel like I am so prudish freak with a stick up my ass simply because porn-y stuff has never been my thing yet it’s in now so must become sheeple…Fuck that.

And fuck every single person who told me to put myself out there and take a chance on people because they might surprise me. All he did was reassure me that my initial impression is that people suck. Think I may change my phone ringtone to Slipknot’s “People=Shit” as a reminder to keep to myself and give no one the benefit of the doubt. And to avoid my ass trash family like the black festering psychological plague they are.

Spook’s birthday next Sunday is going to be one of those occasions I need a damn biohazard suit to keep from being infected.

I TRIED, counselors. I tried putting myself out there. Maybe since it’s all so innocent and shiny and happy in your world, I can give him your number and he can send YOU dick pics.

Humanity makes my soul cry tears of blood sometimes.

Random Rants And Musings At The Rooster Hour

Posted in anxiety disorders, depression, sleep disorders with tags , , , , , on July 29, 2018 by morgueticiaatoms

I woke up from a fucked up dream for the third time around 3:30 with every intention of going back to sleep. My mind is not cooperating so thanks to my digital TV antenna, I’ve gotten to watch a couple of shows on PBS. One was about a family in Pakistan who was being threatened by the taliban because they dared to educate their daughters same as the sons and ‘girls are a burden on the family.’ Much as I try to respect and understand other cultures, I have never been on board with the sexism placed on offspring. Even in this country to do this day there are people living in the past who value boys over girls and oh, the intellectual emaciation of men who say “My wife did not give me a son.” Well, women are born only with XX chromosomes so we depend on the Y necessary for boy infants therefore it is the male failing to give a son. Basic science. And if you’re a decent human being, you’ll love your children no matter the gender. And for this Pakistani family, hats off, for the father refused to differentiate between his sons or daughters, he treated them the same as far as getting them educated and loving them, even under threaten of death by the taliban. Gotta give the man respect. I love people who go against the social grain and do what feels right to them. (Excluding terrorists and pedophiles and animal abusers, they’re just vile excrement who should be executed on sight but hey, that’s just me.)

The other show I watched was about the white house over the years and presidencies with the families. What I saw mostly were regular families forced into a spotlight yet still trying to make the best of it and have a sense of humor and a good heart. Much as I felt Obama didn’t necessarily live up to his campaign promises and Michelle Obama chose an utterly silly platform (really, let’s worry about chubby kids instead of the kids too poor to get any food, let alone healthy stuff? Seems silly to me.) But they seemed pretty down to Earth, devoted to each other and their kids, and there just wasn’t any rancor. Maybe a front, but it reminded me I wasn’t always a political hater, I wasn’t always ashamed to be an American. The current regime…Makes me feel dirty and ashamed, like I need a constant bath to wash away the hatred, corruption, and nastiness. How times have changed. Maybe we had shady presidents in the past but they kept it low key. Of course, their fan base wasn’t comprised of intellectually emaciated racists and hatemongers.

But what do I know, I am a mental health blogger. Guess when I wake at 3 a.m. and can’t get back to sleep and I am riddled with the monthly hormonal dysphoria (I got so mad last night, I actually punched a door six times, lucky I didn’t break my hand, and since I haven’t had anything like that happen in over two years…this is gonna be a bad curse but if I have to listen to my kid say something isn’t her fault one more time when it absolutely was, I am gonna implode. She’s all sweet and lovey when others are round then they leave and she’s back to screaming at me and last night, I refused to go get her Laffy Taffy so she punched me in the arm 5 times and I am so scared of them taking her from me, I feel utterly defenseless against her tantrum attacks so I send her to her room…) BREATHE. I am filled with so much rage that is not normal to me. And the cramps and backache and irritation and anxiety and the fact all I look forward to is sleep but I can’t sleep more than 2 hours at a time…And I am hungry as hell but I have no energy to fix anything to eat.

“My heart and mind are not yet aligned.”

I stole that line from some TV show but it seems appropriate enough a description. A week from now minus the hormonal surge I may change my mind. But to my credit, at least I know to walk away outdoors when I feel myself going hormonally nuts. Then she follows me outside and starts in again about candy or whatever and it’s like there is no escape, even in the bathroom, within five minutes she is outside the door making demands. She had a fit because “I’m not getting much for my birthday cos you guys are all always broke.” When she is so disrespectful and lacking in gratitude, truthfully, I don’t want to give her more than a cupcake with a candle on it, a chintzy toy she’ll break or lose in 5 minutes, and move along. I guess that’s my damage, but she’s turning 9, she still hits me and screams at me (lesser since we moved but it still does happen) and she doesn’t treat anyone else the way she treats me. I am busting my ass for her and….nothing. Kids may be takers by nature but my kid has elevated it to an art form and what fears me most is she may never outgrow it. They say personality is basically solidified by age 7 so…it’s terrifying. And I say no all the time, I give her limits (I made her write an essay yesterday on why I had to send her friend home because she wouldn’t share her toys and kept yelling at him.) I am doing everything I know and…

Juggling my own mental issues. Some situational, some not. Because when I can’t even go to yard sales and enjoy them…my brain chemicals are not right. When my cat loves on me and I just want them to go away and leave me alone…my brain is not right. That’s not situational. That’s clinical.

It will be light out soon. I want to go back to sleep, my back is killing me from the cramps. But if the mind doesn’t cooperate even with melatonin and Xanax…my one escape has been taken away.

Fuck this, only roosters should be up at this hour. Bet they got more sleep than I did so they crow with happiness.

I just want to fucking sleep. And ya know, get to a point where my mind is feeling so well, I get bummed at bedtime because hey, I could be writing or reading or doing crafts, I could be doing things I usually love. I want that back. I want sleep to be a necessity, not a luxury, not a way to escape only to end up more frustrated.

I just want to feel well again. I don’t think that’s unreasonable.

But as Sebastian Bach once was said on a Skid Row home video doc, “If you think, you stink.”

I’d give up thinking but again…no cooperation from the brain. Ass trash.

Non Fictional Anxiety

Posted in anxiety disorders with tags , , , , on July 28, 2018 by morgueticiaatoms

Over my years on disability, I’ve been asked How does your condition(s) impact your ability to function normally on a daily basis. During my years blogging about said conditions, I have received a plethora of advice telling me to exercise, meditate, use herbal supplements, envision myself calm and unaffected, be strong, be tough, blah blah blah. (Well meaning people are the bane of my existence because they really don’t get it.)

Today the enormity of my anxiety disorder/panic disorder is slamming into home plate with a cleated shoe to my face.

I’m watching a fictional tv show where most of the characters, including the cops, are corrupt, lying, backstabbing assholes and the only decent characters are all getting screwed over and gaslit by the assholes…and my heart is pounding, my paranoia is up, and it all feels like it may as well be happening to me. I feel scared, outraged, helpless, and I am about to just give up on the final four episodes (it only lived one season) because my fight or flight response is hammering at my psyche…

THIS. This is how my conditions impact my daily functioning. I can’t even watch a fucking tv show because it triggers fight or flight.

Going for a jog, doing some jumping jacks, and inhaling essential oils does not correct whatever is crossed in my brain causing inappropriate messages to make me feel inappropriate emotions and physical responses.

So while some may perservere by jogging 10 miles a day and huffing essence of pegacorn farts…

I’m not so fortunate. And I hate this shit with every fiber of my fucked up being because I can’t even date or eat in a restaurant or go to an amusement park lest the fight or flight panic be set off and send me into a sweating, pretzel gutted foul odor emitting trainwreck.

Yesterday it was the black depression kicking my ass. Today it’s the anxiety.

17 days til my next med check appointment with yet another new psych nurse. Maybe she’ll tell me to stick a spoon on my nose and walk around the block while singing “Yankee Doodle”. After being told by one well meaning person to rub patchouli oil on my pulse points as it would help with depression and anxiety but instead made me sneeze, itch, get hives, and cough until I retched…

It goes to show I’m willing and desperate enough to try pretty much anything but as usual the one size fits all mentality simply doesn’t fit me. I’m oddly propertioned psychologically, I guess.

Dear Followers…Sorry…Really, I Am Sorry

Posted in depression with tags , , , , , on July 27, 2018 by morgueticiaatoms

I received two donations towards Spook’s birthday/school clothes funds and due to shit memory, I forgot my password to log into gofundme so I could send proper thank yous days ago. I keep thinking, ‘I’ll feel better tomorrow” but…meh, depression doesn’t really work that way. I seem to get one high functioning day a week and I never know when that will be so…I truly am sorry for my breach in etiquette, for we truly are grateful for the donations. Every little bit help, and even a share helps restore faith in humankind. Even if this week I have been a poor example myself with shit manners. Really am sorry.

I am hormonal, crampy, and my sleep has become so plagued with disturbance, I never feel rested. Just exhausted all the damned time and you’d think the doctor might want to do something about that but meh, they toss either coma drugs or weak ass anti-histamine-wanna-be-sleep-drugs because the stuff that works for actual sleep like Lunesta or whatever isn’t covered by shit insurance so sucks to be me.

And today, it really does suck to be me. I am in such a dark, listless space. When I say all I look forward to is is one of those days when it’s not merely a mind frame. It’s literally all I can think of every two minutes, clock watching, waiting, hoping the time passes quickly, praying for night time so I can shed this day and this mind frame like the nasty rotting layer of skin it is. I even tried to outrage myself into a different state of mind by giving in and watching the freaky futuristic Altered Carbon. But I can’t even work up outrage today. I am in a blackened room and sleep is my only respite but tick tock slowly goes the clock…5 and a half hours at least before the spawn wears down and crashes so I can follow suit.

I’d like to say “I’d kill” for a good night’s sleep but apparently these days, you can’t publicly say a fucking thing without it coming back to haunt you as being in bad taste, poor humor, racially insensitive, disrespectful of murder victims and the dead, who the fuck knows. Last time I was on a page about the current supreme court nominee there was clickbait about Zac Efron sporting dreads so people were in an uproar about A FUCKING HAIRSTYLE. Because white people haven’t been sporting dreads as fun fashion statements until right this fucking news cyclel. God, the idiocy around us boggles the mind. Makes me grateful I have whacked out brain chemicals and can be set off by such stupidity. Because if I had ‘normal’ brain chemicals like the masses allegedly do, then I’d be just as intellectually emaciated as them. A FUCKING HAIRSTYLE TRUMPS SOME DUDE WHO IS GOING TO GET A LIFETIME APPOINTMENT TO THE SUPREME COURT.

I’m starting to think the current state of things in the U.S> is a new mental disorder of its own called Trumpdashian Braindeath. If you can look around and not be depressed, you’re either on better drugs, delusional, or Republican. (Oh, that will bite me on the ass, no doubt, but hey, if you’re a Republican with enough intelligence to at least respect differing opinions, no problem here, it’s the mindless followers I want to club with Z-whackers.) Fuck. I went political, that’s never good and it was never something I gave a damn about until…well, everyone started drinking the Kool-Aid. Nothing pisses me off more than mindless following, religious or political affiliation be damned. Think for yourself, have your principles, but for fuck’s sake, never be too zealous to admit when you might be wrong or others’ points of view might be valid, too. Even I can do that much, which is why I triple and quadruple check any story I read about current political events. Much as I like a great witch hunt, I’m thinking multiple sources of multiple affiliations, you’re probably close to the truth there. And more than being right or being agreed with, I just want the fucking truth.

Even when it feeds the Frankenstein that is my depression. I can’t believe how far down the rabbit hole I have fallen, and some of it must be related to improper sleep. Even when my kid’s not home for me to stress out about, I can’t stay asleep. And I want to stay asleep.

So there you have it. Sorry, truly, for lapses in etiquette and my gratitude is true.

Sorry not sorry for the political tirade, it’s gotten downright asinine out there and since I am willing to admit my view isn’t the only view or even necessarily the right view…I have no use for others who can’t do the same. It may cost me followers but…I’m so far down the rabbit hole, launching a few social nukes seems the least of my worries.

And the true blue who read this blog because it resonates in some way…won’t be run off by some hormonal prattling and a small tirade about what we all know to be true. Half of America has joined a cult and aren’t just drinking the Kool-Aid, they’re snorting it in dry powder form, too.

To those I offended who are decent human beings….well, me having my own, perhaps contrary opinion, wouldn’t offend you if you were decent, so….meh.


It was brought to my attention that I did not include the link to Spook’s fundraiser. Kid wants a birthday and school clothes and pencils (they do still use those these days, right?) and all that stuff so any help is much appreciated.

The Happiest Part Of My Day Is Bedtime

Posted in anxiety disorders, depression with tags , , , on July 25, 2018 by morgueticiaatoms

I’ve said it many times before during a deep depression but never have I meant it more than I do now. Sleep, interrupted and haunted by nightmares as it may be, is the one part of the day I truly look forward to. And that’s NOT normal.

I have been in way worse personal situations before. Had far less to look forward to, to live for.

I love my daughter, she is my superpower, my reason for getting up in the morning when every fiber of my being says to stay asleep, pull the covers over, mash a pillow over my head….I fight for her.

But I feel like I’m losing, big time, and I am still 3 weeks from my next med appointment, with yet another new psych pro and my track record with psych nurses is well, one, but it was not a good experience.

My family, as usual, is trying to take over my kid’s birthday. They scream at me to pay the bill that’s in my sister’s name cos they’re broke and no, I can’t make a payment arrangement, but they’re talking about driving 80 miles and spending $40 on party favors…so then they can gripe about not having groceries for two weeks. But it’s this way every year with them, my kid’s birthday isn’t hers, it’s just their chance to show who loves her more by spending more.

I also have to face down school registration next week, which entails driving 22 miles out of the way to fill out paperwork since she entered end of year and I was never given on line log in credentials.

My God, I survived being abandoned with a 2 year old and no money to my name and didn’t feel this fucking hopeless, anxious, and depressed.

That my doctor thought I was in a good place 2 and half months ago is disturbing.

Anyone who’s only joy is going to bed…is NOT doing well and you are NOT a very good doctor to leave a patient in that mental space.

Now my happy time. Lights out, and let the toss and turn commence so eventally I will have the oblivion of sleep. Which is also followed by the self loathing of ‘oh,fuck, I woke up again” in the morning. Psychiatric care in this country is appalling in its incompetence.

Ass Clowns Shall Inherit The Earth

Posted in anxiety disorders, depression with tags , , , on July 24, 2018 by morgueticiaatoms

I survived court. Barely. They had the AC cranked at the courthouse. I got there 25 minutes early (timing shit since we live in Armpit has become iffy, don’t want be late, so I run too early, bloody hell.) and while everyone else looked comfortable…I was literally pouring with sweat from my scalp, face, neck. Oh, and the added bonus, in spite of bathing, body oil, body lotion, perfume, deodorant, anti perspirant and Gain Febreeze sprayed clothes…I was so stressed and anxious, my body began emitting the usual unpleasant stale odor. FFS. I even broke out the pricey Cool Water perfume (was a gift) in hopes it would battle the stress smell and…FAIL.

Donor wasn’t even there but they couldn’t discern if he’d even received notice due to all his address changes so…another hearing on September 14th. And for the life of me, I( don’t know why. The lawyer laid it all out. Abandonment, no contact for six and half years, the state ordered him to pay support and even knowing that when he got a new job…he didn’t notify the state of his address change or new job. There is a no debt, no property, and he sees my dad and stepmom and sister pretty much weekly as they go to buy gas and such where he’s a ‘manager’…and he doesn’t even ask about Spook’s well being, he just has the nerve to tell my dad he got a promotion but it’s still so hard to make ends meet. Boo fucking hoo.

So the lawyer said he’d go to the donor’s job to get a new address and serve him with papers and of course, if the judge doesn’t order the donor to cover fees…I’ll have to. And I still can’t pay my security deposit and now I have the old bill in my sister’s name to handle (never ever try to discontinue serving on line using a smartphone browser if you’re smart phone illiterate like me, I screwed the pooch there.) And I swear the lawyer is dragging things out, chasing donor down, all in hopes of charging more legal fees which he ain’t getting from me unless he’ll accept a dollar a month. My uncle guaranteed on my behalf but my god, do I need more family debt and drama? The nightmare just gets worse and worse.

And ass clowns like the donor keep getting the benefit of the doubt and judges saying, “Nothing’s been done in this case for 2 years, the parties really need to reach an agreement.” WE AGREE WE HATE EACH OTHER. He abandoned us, he has shirked responsibility at every turn,and cares more about himself whining about not making enough money more than asking my dad “Hey, how’s my daughter doing?” What kind of judge needs more than that to just issue a ruling and move on? I swear the donor is coated in Teflon, nothing ever sticks to him, he skates on supporting 3 kids or even being in their lives, he moves woman to woman, job to job, and…he still gets the benefit of the doubt while I get…screwed without dinner or a kiss. Ass clown motherfuckers.

I encountered more of them trying to get out of town and come home cos Dad and his crew were watching my kid but they had plans today so I had to rush back to fetch her so not to fuck up their lives the way they fuck up mine. I am fairly certain 80% of drivers are braindead ass clowns. And if they’d PUT DOWN THEIR FUCKING PHONES they might descend to just being rude ass clowns.

I survived, though. I had a little picture and plastic toy my kid gave me ‘for comfort’ in my hands the while time I was in the courthouse. She is my superpower. Being her mom is strength. I believe it was quoted in Jessica Jones by her mutant mom that , “I always thought I was meant to do great things, to change the world. But I realize, maybe my great thing was that I had you and you’re going to change the world.” (Loosely quoted, you get the gist.) I’m not beating on a bongo drum declaring my uterus has magical powers, but I DID bring a wondermous child into the world and she can do anything she puts her mind to…So maybe having her is my great thing, my gift to the world.

Or she could be bipolar and high strung like me or well, a sociopath like her donor. I can only guide her in the right direction and hope I get it right. Surely, we’re all entitled to get one thing right in our lives.

The fact she was so concerned about my anxiety over court that she gave me one of her Hatchimals ‘for comfort’ tells me she already has more empathy in her pinky fingernail than a large portion of society.

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