My jaw is sore as FRIG, and I legit think it’s from eating too many sunflower seeds.
It’s really only to satisfy my oral fixation–and the intense love of salt that will one day lead to my death–so when I sunflower, I do it up big. Pop 10-15 of those fuckers in one cheek, crack them in the center of my mouth, move the cracked seeds to the other cheek, spit the shell, continue until all seeds are shelled, eat them all at once.
Thing is, this takes a lot of tongue coordination and muscle use. But it’s addictive as fuck for me, because it satisfies that weird urge to be “accomplishing something” without having to do anything hard.
IT’S THE CANDY CRUSH OF MY MOUTH.
It basically distracts me enough in my downtime to keep me from Going Dark. IT’S LIKE SALTY BOOZE THAT WRECK MY FACE INSTEAD OF MY LIVER.
Last night I was in the middle of a mouthful and was like GOD. DAMN. IT. I CAN’T. And just let my jaw go slack. Like my personal trainer pushed me too hard, except instead of a personal trainer, it was me, and instead of pushups, it was the tedious ingestion of sodium.
I’ve been eating the shit out of sunflower seeds since I was like 11, I don’t know why my face can’t take it anymore. Yet another hobby ruined by the slow and steady aging process!!!!!
Either that or I’m suddenly grinding my teeth in my sleep, which would be ~too cool~.
Oh. My god. It hurts. Wtf. Did I do.
MAKE THE EASY JOKES NOW BECAUSE THAT TRAIN IS LEAVING THE STATION.
Anyhoo! Now that I’ve unceremoniously abandoned all my friendships and holed up in a nightmare cave of bad television and muted shame, I find myself with a lot of free time. So maybe I’ll start running again? It won’t help with the oral fixation, but it won’t fuck up my jaw, unless I’m doing it RULL wrong, and let’s get real, I probably am.
But. Whatever. There’s kind of no reason not to do it. I don’t really think I can claim depression at this point. I’m dealing with a METRIC FUCKTON of anxiety right now, but that’s not new. AIN’T NO THANG. I’ve been in a WWE-style wrestling match with that turdbag since my first day of Kindergarten. I’m a professional Anxiety Haver.
I’ve managed to do productive things in the past while being crushed by the permanent terror of living. Why not now?!
WHY NOT, asks the universe, but I ignore it because it feels kind of like a phone call and I hate answering the phone.
And I also know doing shit helps with the anxiety. Sort of. Sometimes. Okay. Always. Fine. Doing things always helps, okay? OKAY.
Listen, my entire blog is about me wanting to do more interesting things at a future date, aight? Accept it for what it is. Which is repetitive and tedious, like eating sunflower seeds. SHARE MY PAIN.
SHARE IT. LOVE IT. CRACK IT OPEN. CONSUME ITS INNARDS. SPIT IT INTO A BOWL.