Chronicle 310 ~The Sorrows To B~

Long ago, I got super heavy into daily motivations. But I no longer imagine things can/will be better. But B taught me that they can’t get worse. Tears, the sweat of my brow, other bodily fluids… Um, I don’t think alcohol could dull, The Sorrows To B

Saturday, May 7, 2022

Chronicle 310 ~The Sorrows To B~

Hey Lady Lu,
I AM a Billionaire right now, ha-ha. Some of my smaller investments include McDonald’s, Subway, Pizza Hut, Buffalo Wild Wings, Krystal, etc.

I feel like crying, Lady Lunalesca. There was a time when being sad didn’t make me hungry. Much like anger, grief takes a lot out of you. If you’re wondering why I’m talking to you so late, my Lady. Yeah, 6:30 in the morning. It’s quite specfic Lady Luna. Tears. Lying here in bed, it’s like I’m flooding the boat. And then the moment I get up, it’s like an ocean of tears. I’m sure I’ve said before I can’t swim. Yet one way or another, I always make it back to bed. I always say, when it rains, it pours. And I don’t mean in a Luke Combs type of way. Water, water, everywhere, as THEY say. But shopping, some puppies, a shitty lawn.

I feel like sweating? Not today, Lady Lunalesca, but what if I found Braxton today? He could be there, you know, at PetSmart. Hell, was it this week or the last one; I looked up Deer Head Chihuahuas? Fur babies are a lot of work. And considering what I’ve been doing. Today I need to check my schedule, but for now, I’ll do the work of missing my son B III. That means I continue to exist. I would shed tears over him than go into the Day Job and sweat. It’s not only the work but the fear. As always, the humiliations galore, I suffer in that place. How about everyday existence? If I had only gotten up earlier instead of hitting the snooze.

I feel like making love, ha, now that’s a laugh. Only I don’t feel like laughing with everything I continue to do. Why can’t I keep “it” in my fucking pants as I did before? 161 days Lady Lunalesca. This isn’t right at all. But I would choose depression over the disgust that happens the moment after. I’m pathetic and sad, but not enough to know how to stop. Do I want to go back to hiding if I had one more four-legged kid around? Do I want to know the worst pain I have ever had in this existence in what, another 15 years? Why not cry about the Day Job, my dick, and the disgust with my presence? Braxton, The Sorrows To B.

461 Days Without B III

BLM Braxton’s Life Matters,

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