Tale 032 ~To Braxton, Virgil, Cheers~

“I want a new drug.” Not anesthetizing like the Day Job. That’s if I’m not sweating bullets with my anxiety. And there’s bloody zombie movies. Turning “mountains” into snow-covered peaks… Eww! Or crying my eyes out over B. To Braxton, Virgil, Cheers

Wednesday, August 2, 2023

Tale 032 ~To Braxton, Virgil, Cheers~

Forgive Me, Echo,
I AM a Billionaire right now. But the last “drinks” I bought were for Braxton’s Aunt. She knows I’m a lightweight drinker.

Plus, despite everything, I’ll wallow in my grief and depression; thanks, Inspector. I end up crying five out of seven days anyway for various reasons. Braxton, for the most part. I am still considering again; I am time traveling. Today is Monday, July 24, 2023, so I talked to Madam J. And “Dear Future Wife” earlier. Talk about Chronomentrophobia. More like Chronophobia. I don’t even remember who I was talking to about that (sigh). Anyway, we’ll get to that. All I know is, at the moment, I want to drink until I pass out. Braxton is as good of an excuse as any. What if V fell down the stairs where he now sits? With me as a “friend,” he could use a drink, right?

But know this. Dear Inspector, the only one who needs or deserves any “pain” in their existence is me. And yes, I know, I’ve been quoting this Taylor Swift line plenty. “It’s me, hi, I’m the problem, it’s me.” The last thing I need to do is start drinking. If I want to throw up, I’ll go to Pizza Hut. Inspector, I’m surprised I can even get anything into my mouth. The way I’ve been spittin’ these days. Hell! I should say spitting, considering how pathetic I’ve been. The Critic? They’ve been quiet. Again, I’m time traveling, so by the time they read this… Inspector, I will be in no mood to care, considering I’ll be sweating bullets. Dangerous… Let’s focus on work and my overwhelming anxiety. Effing Day Job.

I want to cry every time I bother to look at the clock. I swear, next to the Man In The Mirror. There are those red numbers on the clock. I jump whenever I hear the phone go off. If it’s not a Facebook hacker, then it’s some alarm I’ve set to keep me moving. Being productive? The mirror, phone, the Day Job, uh Virgil. Why am I being a meanie, Echo? It’s like things that make me burst into tears for 500. Blood, sweat, and tears? What else, let me see… Better yet, NOOOO! NO! Because some girl is going to make the list. Then… Chances are I’ve broken, but again, who knows? Is alcohol a better vice? You think? To Braxton, Virgil, Cheers

913 Days Without B III, Day 354 of Virgil’s Arrival

BLM Braxton’s Life Matters,

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