pylades_drunk: (could it be your life means nothing)
It's one of those days when getting up seems like it was a terrible idea.

Every technology invented after 1820 is beyond his comprehension today; he burns toast, and manages to do everything but actually break the dryer doing laundry. The clothes box seems like it's laughing at him personally. Everything he says comes out wrong: his tone is a little more impatient than he means, his jokes don't work (would they have worked in French? is it just him, is he just an idiot?); he drops something meant to be sweetly teasing to Tunny and it immediately coils cold in his stomach: stupid, too-much, presumptive.

Sometimes Grantaire is reminded pointedly that he's 23: well out of childhood, old enough that he should be capable enough to conquer life's pitfalls (he can hear his father in his head: be a man.) and aware of it. And young enough, still, that sometimes he just doesn't understand how.

It's barely after noon and he could use a drink, and god, isn't that predictable. It's too wet to paint and he can't imagine he'd do it capably if he tried. He can't bear the thought of forcing himself on anyone else.

He knows he's being irrational, that this is just how his mind is, and that doesn't help. He's sick of melancholy. He's sick to death of being the person people have to cheer.

He sits out on the steps and crosses his arms on his knees and puts his head down for a second.

[OOC: this is just a post to get stressed!Grantaire out of my head and acknowledge that sometimes he's like this; having the whole island tag in would be a mess, but Tunny or any close friends can tag in here if there is anyone reading this :P]

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Grantaire

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