I just finished reading a short story written by someone I know. Can’t share it, I’m sorry, given that they’ve asked me not to, but.
One of the characters is asexual. and there’s a bit where they’re talking to someone else about it, and. I. I just. I’d forgotten what it was like to have someone like me in a story. Someone who’s not positioned as “broken/sick/traumatised/devout/pure/repressed/etc”.
There’s another bit where they come out to one of their friends, and the friend laughs because they think they’re joking. and fuck if that hasn’t stirred up some feelings. (Protip: don’t laugh and tell someone “Good joke, though I don’t think most people will get it” or “I thought you were doing it to be ironic”)
and I’m missing S, and feeling kinda meh (would be terrible but I’m talking to a friend, and sharing clothing porn with him so) and I’m in pain because the blister on my foot burst with blood and pus and grossness, my wrist is like someone has pulled it off, my lower back hurts because that seems to be just what it does now and my shoulders hurt because lower back pain = weird coping position = pain, and goddamn I just want to curl into a ball for a bit.
and basically my mood has just gone down hill since I left uni.