#its suffocating

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Wilbur: I’ve got to find Ranboo for sure, um… I’m not sure who I’ll ask next though.

Tommy looks over

Phil looks at Tommy

Wilbur: um…

Tommy looks away

Wilbur: … oh, oh I know, I know who I need to apologize to..!

Phil looks over at Wilbur, before turning back to Tommy: oh? Oh yeah?

Tommy looks over

Phil, still looking at Tommy: who?

Tommy looks down

Wilbur: Tommy-

Tommy looks up in slight shock

Wilbur: -they’re- they’re far away, we- we need to- you’re coming with me Tommy we’re gonna go and find them

You think you made it up.

So, as some of you may know, I have carpal tunnel syndrome so I often have pain or numbness in both my hands which can travel all the way up to my neck in severe cases.

I used to go to uni twice a week, 9am to 6pm. I worked at a tuition centre twice a week,4.30pm to 8.30pm. I used to tutor from home from 11am to 5pm once a week. And my hobbies included writing / drawing.

Since COVID-19 has had us locked at home, I've not been working and I've just been kinda half doing my online lecture sessions.

So, because of this, my pain lessend

I was only having the occassional numbness in my fingers when sleeping and minor pain twinges in my fingers during the day.

So what did my smart ass do next?

On monday I decided to do 3 hours of writing, 6 hours of studying and 1 drawing without my wrist splints all in one day. I thought that maybe I had made up my pain or maybe I was overplaying it.

I now haven't been able to do anything the last 2 days because the intense pain rolling through my arms makes me want to rip them off and sometimes all I can do is put on my wrist splints and just sit there.

She lived deep, deep down. Under trash and plastic and layers of layers of layers of layers. But where? Where? Her only feelings were of paranoia and anxiety. Her skin was translucent and white and soft from living beneath the layer and layers and layers. Long ago she had slipped beneath the thousands of pages of paper with a soft, slippery child clinging to her chest. She would slide down through darkness, through the layers to emerge into new places with nothing but the familiar feel of the thing’s hands wrapped around her tiny neck and the fear pushing her forward. Deep, deep, deep down. Her life was nothing but climbing up and pushing away and pushing up and being pulled down and emerging upwards. She remembers little of past paths but of a woman who followed and would try to stop but could never keep up.

I have been pushing pushing pushing pushing pushing pushing pushing pushing pushing pushing pushing pushing pushing pushing pushing forward and up and the thing no longer clings to my neck. I have pulled my way through the layers and found more layers.