Cel is barely fronting since the crash happened. Things are not going well. This situation feels so foreign, disconnected and dizzening– I hate our fucking job since it’s so braindead and with barely any reward; we just follow the procedures and patterns and get some form of social reward and dopamine from doing the shit we’re told.

This sucks. Our room feels detched from reality and from our emotions, and I’m barely not really able to fucken do emotion processing, am just a shite stuck in parallel.

Cellie has to do the prepwork and calls for the car stuff since, even though I can do it, it’s not my fucking job and I ain’t doing none of the stuff that isn’t my problem.

Even if it technically is, because we’re the same social entity.

But fuck that.

She’s far in deep, lost and masked and I am just coasting through.

Existence is fuck.