One for the road.

Nights like this make me really miss Joe. Why do I even miss him? It's hard to say when someone puts you through so much hell and you start to think.. hell wasn't soooo bad. I mean, not what you pictured it. Not what you anticipated/dreaded/feared it would be. Nowhere even near. It's scary to think that I could live through hell. Hell, that'd I'd even be okay living in it. Oh goodness, maybe I just need a distraction to make hell less enticing.

I definitely can't condone his actions. I feel horribly awful for the girls who were put through the same things. Something tells me I'm stronger than all combined and a fraction of me finds comfort in that. On the other hand, the other pie piece of me wonders how much I could endure.

A giant part of my being would love nothing more than to crawl in a hole and die. Or hibernate until I am 80 and have good stories to tell my grandkids. I just don't really have an urge to experience much anymore. I don't really have an urge to live out those stories. Bea Arthur died today and so did my fucking zest for life.

I got fired from the Thruway yesterday and instantly thought of that FML website. You know, where people write witty events that occur in their day to day routine and then write "FML" after it. Such a good punchline. Except, I think I should just get FML tattooed on my forehead. It's much more appropriate.

All of these life changes are happening way too fast. I've been wondering when I'm going to just breakdown into a nervous, frantic, blubbering mess. Hopefully nowhere in public. Hopefully in the discretion filled cave of my home so no one sees. I wish I was less strong sometimes.. only because it feels like no one really gives a shit when you're not a crying mess every two seconds.

I got an email from the SSA saying they reviewed my application and, although I was qualified, I wasn't the most qualified. To me, that's a big, wordy FUCK YOU. Well, fuck everything.