Oh yeah dang, the very last thing a feral horse needs right now is my broke, frightened, overworked, underpaid, tiny apartment dwelling ass. Nice try, social and ecological responsibility lifestyle research newsletter, or whatever you are that I know I put my email address into the contact form for like years ago, but I’m not even 100% sure why I signed up. Maybe I thought I could do something, help someone, be part of the solution rather than just the precipitate or whatever, but it’s been years since I’ve opened one of these newsletters, and the very last thing I can handle waking up after a few hours of nightmares is an inbox full of anxiety and work and please please please with the cherry on top a cry from a damn horse asking to be adopted. I’m barely able to take care of myself and the two human kids I already have, I’m sorry feral horse. You don’t want any of this, I promise.
Friday is writing creepy bummers. 
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