Fuck you and the horse you rode in on.

Regards,

phenom

I don’t know.

It’s like my eyes are being pulled into my head while a frying pan is simultaneously smacking my brain.  It’s strain and pain and frustration and irritation and it just doesn’t. Fucking. Go. Away.  It’s meds that mess with me so I change them and the new ones bring a whole new level of medieval on my ass. 

Worrying about my kids and money and house and trips and my health and my job and did I fuck up when I rejected an escrow account and the mortgage is only nine days late.  It’s I just got home and I’m hungry and I should be outside with the boys but all I want to do is lie on the couch and close my eyes and bask in the silence. 

It’s having to walk through a supernova of flourescent lights to get to the john because design quality moved next to us a year ago.  A 30-inch LCD that has the brightness turned down to a point where shadows are all I work with and holy crap that helped a little bit. 

It’s the break from all that that cool breezes and warm fresh air provide.

It’s the fact that the cool breezes and warm fresh air didn’t help at all at last night’s tee ball game.

It’s that sleep is my only respite and jobs and money and house and kids and cats and plastic keep me from enjoying it as much as I can.

It’s that I can’t fucking do the things I enjoy doing every day.

It’s that my doctor hasn’t called me back. 

I don’t know.