So hey, I really mean it this time. No realllllly.
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Yep. A feeling initiated in December 2019 by having my first-ever tooth extraction and exacerbated by a slow healing process and a fucked-up-feeling hole in my mouth afterwards that makes me think of Chet Baker almost every day (and not in a "man, how about that solo on "Autumn Leaves" way). I find myself finally spurred into action by my second gout outbreak in three years, this one much worse than the last already-shitty-enough one, and by today, day three of that bullshit, I think I've decided that my pretty-committed 2019/2020 slow-motion suicide approach to living has, ironically enough, outlived its usefulness. I was kind of hoping that it would all end quicker and a lot less painfully than this.
So: in the absence of a better plan, I am going to try and take care of myself for a bit. I mostly just never want to have another gout flare-up in my life. "Details forthcoming."
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