My Social Life Can Be Described With The Phrase "odds And Ends", Partially Because The Phrase Itself

Them: Shake what your Mama gave you!

Me: *stuffing my Autism, childhood trauma and cooking skills into maracas*

Me: why can I never find people who think like me or even similarly? Why do they always say some bullshit??

Also me: actually likes learning and school, anti capitalist who wants to build community, teacher pet, autistic, very queer, calls out people when to they say bigoted shit (and very bluntly), asks a lot of questions, intrups people in the middle of sentences to ask said questions, has a very crude and raunchy sense of humor,

i am currently out on my deck in -1 weather in only shorts and a hoodie, drinking ice coffee with a bit of flavored creamer (we ran out of milk), and about 4 scoops of sugar, listening to kinda chill but angry music, trying to finish the last 100 pages of "The Da Vinci code" before tomorrow because i wanted to.

Someone just put the stainless steel pan on the cast iron pan stack.

This house is a fucking nightmare

Brand new sticks after a hour and a half of practice.

I sat there in an almost peaceful silence, if not for the thoughts swishing back and forth in my mind like a broken washing machine, I'd have thought it tranquil. I felt myself choke, I choke and all the thoughts I couldn't swallow. If I felt any better I would have made a joke there, I'm sure you can fill in the blanks. I tried adjusting, maybe the thoughts would disappear like that. They didn't, they bubbled menacingly, they twirled in circle infornt of my eyes. A shuddering gasp for air broke the silence. And then another. A few more as my vision blurred in the dim lighting. It didn't sound like me, rather, like someone else was there, someone else's desperate grabbing for air, someone else's breif and lonely wimper, not my own. I tried to gather myself, I didn't even know what I was crying for. I needed something to block out the quiet cries, before they became racking sobs. Something to put the incessant thoughts to rest, if only for a while.

I want a love triangle but the main character is a trans guy in a fantasy world (or just medieval) and the two interests are the queen and another servant who works for the queen. The queen is convinced he's a lesbian, and he makes the other servant question if he himself is gay or not. Both encounter the main character as both a nice looking woman, and a hot guy but neither of the interests figure it out until the end.

Where are the rushed diary entries, as you run with friends to a playground. Where is the harsh, impulsive attitude. When did it all become so soft? This is not at any fault of light, but at the fault of us for not properly documenting the dark. Early morning is not complete without the stinging cold air, tea is not without it's bitterness. When did we start writing only the delicate? You cannot comprehend love without the suddenness of it all, no matter how slow you can try to take it there is the unmistakable surprises love must give someone. Without the impulsivity, the dark, the sudden, everything becomes diluted. And much less true.

Just realized I could post my slightly terrible poetry on here

Me on the verge of crying and having to friend request my brother on discord so I can ask him to bring me food because my abdomin hurts and my legs feel reminiscent of jello with the incorrect quantity of gelatin in it: