Day 9

Because I decided the previous night not to come in to work before noon, I feel almost rested when I wake up at my 10am alarm. I also definitely feel slightly hungover, as the choices I made the previous night trample damage to the next morning. Hungover but without regrets.

The previous day I learned that my ex printed out my break-up email and heavily redacted it to make "blackout poetry", where the only remain text ran in a down-leftward diagonal to read "I don't feel sorry", posting it to Instagram and Facebook, and I am sure it was intended to malign me. That's fine. I choose to read it as her saying that she does not feel sorry, and that would not surprise me. This event is part of why I am hungover today. But I also got to hang out with Meredith, who I so rarely get to see even though she is one of my best friends, and that was another part of why I am hungover today, because drinking Belgian ales with friends is a thing I enjoy doing.

For breakfast, I have butter coffee again. I believe it is enough.

Day 8

It's just as hard as the previous morning to wake up in this new reality. I still have not gone to bed sober. Last night I sobbed for a good fifteen minutes or so, missing my ex. There is a baseline dread and anxiety and sadness settling into every initial waking moment in this past week. It also feels like the baseline is lowering every day. This is the eighth consecutive morning I have had less than 6 hours of sleep in the night.

For breakfast, I manage butter coffee and a multivitamin.

Day 7

Oh my god it is so hard to get out of bed. I am going to be late to my own load-in again. I feel such despair, such utter despair. What happened to the fired-up man who last week felt it was more important than ever to continue supporting other people's art?

It just feels like America broke up with me in the harshest, cruelest way and now it's telling me I'm wrong for feeling badly about it.

For breakfast, I have only coffee and multivitamins.

Day 6

Getting up this morning seems fine. I set an alarm the previous night for 10am, I have an unstructured day ahead of me. My jaw still feels tight. The sheets are still in disarray. I wake up with more dread and anxiety than the previous morning.

For breakfast I just have coffee. Then maybe some almond M&Ms. This is not the taking care of myself I hoped I would do. Still, I have not eaten meat since before the election, and this trend seems to continue.

Day 5

It's the first Pancakes since the election. I set an alarm for 9:45am last night hoping to get up in time, which I do. The bedsheets are a twisted mess indicating the stressful, fitful rest I must have had but could not know. The baseline dread of all these recent days stays present with me. It feels like getting up on Day 2.

For breakfast, I have pancakes with pumpkin spice syrup, some grapes, some black- and blueberries, and way, way, way too much coffee.

Day 4

I get up a little after 10am, though I had awoken up slightly before my alarm clock as the mid-November sunlight floated in my windows. Because my workday was later today, I get more sleep, though I didn't get to bed before 1am and still didn't go to sleep sober, as I haven't in over two weeks now.

It feels a lot easier getting up this morning than it did yesterday. Some of the fatigue had lifted, and the malaise, and I am in a better mood to face the day. I elect to ride my bike to work instead of going on SEPTA.

For breakfast, I have butter coffee, properly blended this time, as well as one chocolate nut cluster and a whole lot of cashews.

Day 3

I keep snoozing the alarm. It's 8:04 before I make it out of bed. It's even harder than ever to get out of bed. At 8:38 am I text my boss, lying to him that I forgot to set my alarm and that I'd be getting there a bit late. I make it to work at 9:47 am.

For breakfast, I barely make coffee with honey. No solid food, not even butter.