Pain and Razor Blades.

I'm here. I am here.

Back.

Sorry.

I just wanted to let you know that I'm alive, thriving on a diet of burritos and 80 hr work weeks.

Seriously. Burritos. Breakfast burritos at the coffee shop I work at and supreme burritos at the Mexican restaurant I work at.

Burritos.

I am a burrito.

You are what you eat right?

I am a burrito.

A cocoon of compacted shit. Bad feelings. Angst, impatience, irritability. Compacted shit stuck in my bowels. Unhealthiness wrapped up in a tortilla. Pasty white skin. Thin.

I am a burrito.

80 hour work weeks. I am a dead man walking. Or woman I suppose.

Currently having my heart ripped out of my chest. My mind chucked in a blender. Chopped up. Minced meat.

Dead.

Are you there God, it's me, Sabrina, and I've become an ever illusive cloud of unhappiness. A cloud dissipated into nothingness. Catatonic.

I am not here.

I got in a fight with fatigue. That bitch kicked my ass. Obliterated my body.

Here I lie limp.

Are you there God, it's me, Sabrina, and I've surrendered. The gloves hit the floor. The bell is tinging. Ringing. Round over.

Down for the count.