What I’ve Been Ignoring

That I’ve been fucking on my couch because I always intended to get a new one and have no idea how to care for this one. Groceries on any reasonable schedule. (Have not ignored eating. Eating has been lush, with lots of excuses/reasons to get inside lots of heads — girls, boys, good fortune, yes.) That I launched a blog that needs an exit. That people still listen. That my bio page image was busted. That someone nice messaged me on [----] and I should have written back so much sooner. That there were 48 people I don’t know wanting to be my ‘Friend.’ That there was a time to say that without connoting status. That that status is imaginary. That I tell stories. That all of this is imaginary. That I am heartbroken. That I have been for a year. That it’s real. That we’re real. That I keep on going on even when I don’t write, when I’m not in the same room with you, when you don’t write. That I’m here. That this matters even when I don’t know what it means anymore. That what I have done, matters.