Send Help, Snacks, or Whatever

I’m honestly at a point where all I can do is laugh.

Not the fun kind, more like what the actual fuck is happening kind.

I’m sick. I have shingles. I threw out my back… on a fucking foam roller.

Universe, seriously. Just throw it all at me already.

Bring it on. I’ve got snacks, existential dread… and grief that’s big enough to crush a building.

But if you’re not gonna give it to me before 2026, just keep it to yourself.