CW suicide, transphobia, bodily functions

lately my days have been defined by getting the runs. by finding a little shit smeared across the palm of my right hand after i wipe. having a body is the evilest of chores but i’m never as suicidal as when i’m driving on an interstate. today i’m trying to make it back to philly instead of offing myself. still i almost go off a bridge trying to make out some horses that first appeared like cows through the trees, i almost drive into a ditch squinting at some mailboxes that looked like horses. when i get off the I-81 outside of staunton i stop at a gas station and buy a slimjim. i tried my best to get to charlottesville by dark but it turns out that i hate driving and have to stop a lot. the slimjim is … disgusting. i keep trying to get siri to text my family “i’m driving through virginia and it’s sleeting” but it keeps correcting “sleeting” to “eating.” it turns out I-64 goes over the shenandoah mountains so high that the constant fog means the cat’s eyes have to be electrified. the combination of snow and clouds means i can’t see shit, and i really have to find somewhere to piss. i’m so sleepy i almost ask siri to turn on the subtitles for my music. for someone who’s trying not to die i do a lot of dangerous stuff. i should not have gone to waynesboro. i should not have driven through shenandoah. i should not have booked that goddamn hotel in charlottesville. “i know you love me, but do you think of me romantically” comes on, and between that and how bad i need to pee i have to keep myself from dancing in my seat