this gives me, mightier

They are arguing. I am trying to change. I won't intervene. If i do, I always turn the house screaming at me, because I am not good at getting angry, my some faulty rage. If they are both angry, then it has to be okay. They destroy each other, and then they are clean. Little rivers of hair, and headphones. And she said Fuck, and so she can't be the victim. I have to let them fight. but—you are meant to stop it. But I can't, but I do, but I spin in mightier circles.

This is something. This makes my head lighter. But the bridges are unlabeled. He scares me. He doubts me. He is much more successful than I am. He is much more normal. I get scared. Now, we are adults. We are meant to play normal. You can't stay broken and strange forever. But I struggle to even write. And I didn't go to that new place that I was meant to. I made them mad. I upset them. I can't explain.

I need to get a new job. Once I am in the pattern, it will be okay. The rest of the world seems to manage. And even though I say I would rather be poor and happy, I don't want to be left behind. I don't want to be the last one. I don't want to feel this way. I should be happy.

This would so many years ago that I felt—you can't act that way without explanation. I know that I remember. I just have to make them solid once more. And small projects. It doesn't matter if it's messy, if it's not how they would do it. We are all different, in our happinesses.

But sometimes it's not enough to tell yourself that. But it has to be. Be better.