I’m fucked. It will get worse. You know, life as usual.
I use a spreadsheet for budgeting and planning. I describe my current crisis.
I’m going back to the streets.
I give explanations to frequently asked questions.
I need to buy medicines, food, shelter, and more.
The cycle continues.
Supporting my recovery is less expensive than supporting my suffering.
I have two days to prove to six professors that they should hire me to edit their papers.
You can ignore this.