[private] hell.

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the cavalry is here; mist and shadows all

 Why should a man be scorned if, finding himself in prison, he tries to get out and go home? Or if, when he cannot do so, he thinks and talks about other topics than jailers and prison-walls? The world outside has not become less real because the prisoner cannot see it. In using escape in this way the critics have chosen the wrong word, and, what is more, they are confusing, not always by sincere error, the Escape of the Prisoner with the Flight of the Deserter.

— J.R.R Tolkien

apparently, it’s March.

just this morning while i walked up to the letterbox, i thought, this is great, the ground’s finally drying up and i won’t have to dodge puddles and mud anymore!

two storms later, returning to the tin can literally walking through ankle-deep water: nevermind.

my kingdom to return to bloody suburbia and concrete fields. i did my time slogging through constant mud, rain, and biting insects seven thousand years ago, it wasn’t romantic and earthy and cottagecore then, and it isn’t now, either.

i would even have the literal criminal neighbours over everything i’ve endured over the past two and a half years, and i feel like a complete fucking moron for ever thinking it was unbearable. you didn’t know what unbearable even was, idiot child.