I had a really disturbing dream last night. These thoughts these brain activities where it seems like there is convergence of events and realities and perspectives always fucking freaks me out because it kills uniqueness, identity, solemnity. This dream was like that. Set on a space station, or in space, it was about race, but not that much diversity, and perspective of things, and stereotypes, and it was horrifying. Not just comically unpleasant, but really actually scary.

I drank 3 bottles of wine yesterday. I’m scared. My liver could be damaged. The fucking depakote started it. We couldn’t afford to sacrifice my liver, we know i drink sometimes binge drink for weeks on end. I have to stop, regardless, but really poor decision on doctor’s side, in retrospect. The medication almost worked, too, except it inflamed my liver. I wasn’t drinking at the time, so we know it was the med.

Mom probably had a lot of covid deaths at the hospital last night, I would guess. If the synchronicity is true. Which we, um, no it isn’t, it’s superstitious bullshit.

I have to go to work. The hard day, Thursday. Tons of pipetting and operating machinery, liquid handling robots, and setting things up, the whole fucking thing is tedious. Peel labels and stick them to tubes. A hundred. Then pipette sample into the tubes. A hundred. Vortex then pipette, that is. Ugh. In a BSC. So annoying. Anyway. Survive that? Set up the instrument first one. Yes, place those hundred tubes on racks. Get consumables. Push buttons on screen. It’s so tedious. WAIT a motherfucking HOUR for first instrument to finish, run on second instrument. Hell if consumables low, dare to try to remember where everything is. Fuck. But, finish that. Loading samples, the interface, try not to break it! Fucking Christ. And if it somehow miraculously starts, you are left nerve-wrecked anyway that it could crash any moment. It doesn’t, usually, like always, but, still.

I hate Thursdays. I hate Tuesdays too but not as much. Lab work is my nemesis. Why do I have a job in lab. This is absurd. I wanted to be a writer or something. Fuck this shit. It pays well but, is it worth my life?

Mom gets home soon. Then I have fifteen fucking minutes with her, to eat breakfast get dressed and ready. That’s all. Fuck. I hate Thursdays.

I’m so alone. Why can’t I just enjoy things? You know? Why can’t I even enjoy things in my life? It’s enough to hate your job. But coming home to nothing? Why? You should be rewarded for your hard work with pleasure and leisure! Why can’t I feel these feelings? I’m so fucked in the head. I guess that’s depression. =( u.u

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