All the pieces are taken care of for you. All the fight that’s left in you is what you have now. All you can hope for is the gentle unwinding of the fight while you generate what you can from the spin of the Earth. Nothing else really matters; no one else really cares. This is all just spinning and spinning in no direction that will really get you anywhere. What matters right now is not the quality of the work, but that you do the work. What matters is that you adjust yourself to the problem in whatever way you can.
These may be the last relatively normal days for a while. What comes after this may really kick you in the balls. What gets to you in the end will likely be a problem you never saw coming. The end of all of it. The end of what you can squeeze from the worst parts of your life. None of it comes together for you.
Three paragraphs. Three paragraphs always. I’m not going to let you get away with not posting this even though it’s nonsense. The point is that you type it and that you post it. Its quality and its literary merits are nothing, its existence is all that matters. One or zero. What matters is that you have brought it into the world and now it can go somewhere. And tomorrow you will do the same thing — and the next day, and the next day. Life is a problem we’ll all get out of eventually, the only difference is what we occupy ourselves with in the meantime.