Sometimes I think I have the mark of the beast on my forehead. One of my friends told me today that I should write a book and call it "I've been screwed by Everybody!" Some people might say I'm complaining, but I prefer to think that I want to enjoy my life just that much more than the average person, and they get jealous. Then I get screwed. But, then there's the occasional legal issues with some gov't agency thinking that maybe I should pay more than I was originally asked to. That perhaps somewhere I'm hiding money. That generally happens more often because I try to live in a really secure, clean neighborhood. Stupid me, I know damn well I'm not suppose to live here, especially if I'm poor. Oh, and I'm single, which means I will also chase your man, and steal your money, and I'm psychotic, or better yet, over sexed, so you can't be seen with me, and by the way, you'd be better off working for another company. Women hate me. So begins the usual weeks of proving the legitamacy of my financial standings and the necessity of my behaviour through hours of horrified conversations with my mother and other such "sheltered" individuals who just can't believe bad things happen to me while still never really offering me a solution, except to say that it must be my fault somehow.
The world of "that's just not right" is a place I want to be!
Did you ever think that at some point, you would be sitting and staring into space and grasping the reality of your aloneness? That even though you at one time lived with two parents and siblings and then you were married with children, all in blissful contentment, that you would wake up to the sad lack of evidence to that now?The bills come due, the work isn't there, the car breaks down, you have to walk and some bum takes your purse and you have to alert the bank and cancel your debit card, and the microwave burns the only dinner you had left (while simultaneously remembering how much your ex-husband use to spend for those glorious meals he just had to have), you're getting fat because you're too depressed to get to the gym, and you're not dating anyone, so there's no sex, and suddenly you think about how good you once had it and you want your life back, like NOW, and your princess mode goes into overload and you start crying. Oh yes, girlfriend, I have been there!
So now I'm angry and ready to take on the world, while still crying, and the phone rings, so I have to pick it up, and it's my son, and I'm excusing my voice to a stuffy nose and listening to the discussion of Hollywood life and saying how great his life sounds and how I'll talk to him again soon, while he is across the country and grown up and unaware of what's haunting me.
Maybe I just need to get laid.
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