Being flirty according to William H. Powell, a respectable 43-year-old.
I have this overwhelming urge to watch The Thin Man.
Except for the fact that I’m gay, the StuntWife is happily married to the RealHusband, and neither of us are Prohibition-era lushes - “The Thin Man” is, in some respects, an accurate reflection of how we treat each other (and William H. Powell is how I treat cute bears - IN MY HEAD. I’m an introvert eldergoth rutabaga - I can’t flirt with TREES AND ROCKS without making a fool of myself, much less an actual PERSON.)
I absolutely HATE feeling like this. I get so down, sad, empty, lonely and upset. It makes me feel worthless and my mind’s a mess. No one needs me. They’re all having fun without me. And if I’d disappear, no one would even bother to notice it.
How my anxiety and depression interact.
If I was an artist, I’d continue this by making the friend waving this lil buddy and introducing the other friend so the three of them could have fun and this evil bitch up there could vanish. After all, that’s what friends are for.