I wish there was a way I could wake up not me. In someone else's skin, with their thoughts and life. Don't give me that fucking BS about "appreciating what you have" or "counting your blessings." Oh, or how about the old "consider the plight of other people, who suffer far more." Freaking great argument. Let's add guilt to my already fucked up sense of identity.
I can't do it. I need a brain transplant or blow to the head to get me to think differently. Oh, sure, a cool crisis on which to focus my attention might do the trick. Rally 'round the old sink project. Engage in some kind of activity get myself out of my head. Won't work. The head comes with me wherever I go.
This little stunted flower's manifestation into existence is bringing joy to no one and will soon pass into non-existence without notice. Do the leaves on the trees hang on for dear life as fall approaches? Surely, they don't bitch nearly as much about the transitory nature of their existence or the daily tribulations of life on the tree.
Every day inches closer. Not fast enough. Not nearly. The cats and dogs would probably adapt to their new homes. They might enjoy life more, not being around my dark cloud. I've seen the effect my caregiving has on people. These poor little animals are probably wishing someone else would take over and rescue them from me.
And....who cares? Just more whining as I contemplate another week of being me. Judge away, silent critics. It's nothing I haven't thought of already.
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I've changed my comments settings to allow for anyone to comment. All comments are welcome, even spineless potshots from anonymous posters. Please, by all means, give me the tongue lashing I so richly deserve. I promise not to hunt you down and melt your keyboard with my plasma cannon. I won't, however, promise not to pout and make that face you can't stand.