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I go back monday. I've negotiated a "graduated return to work". After and excruciating call to the manager. So I go 2 days, then 3, and so on.

I am so far beyond okay.

Then I read apocalyptic shit about the environment and it just all seems so fucking futile. So I eat until it hurts, just a bit. Then I cry listening to Neil Gaiman talk about the future and I just want to die. Not because I'll never be a writer or famous but because I just can't see the future enough to even work out where I want to be.

And for all this I'm so fucking sick of myself. I own a fucking house. My husband can work, and is applying and will get a job and fuck. Why can't I just be happy?

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Geek Anachronism

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