No one would believe it if I told them about my life anyway, so why even try

I’ve decided to stop telling people about my days. Because when I look back on them as I’m driving home during the 8 or 9 p.m. hour each night, I think, “God, they can’t all be this bad, can they?” And then they just manage to get worse.

Oh, yeah, fuck today, by the way.

I was sort of joking (but not really) with superiors and subordinates that the answer to every question is now, “Ask Goddess” or “Goddess will do it.” And I do, or will die trying.

I managed to find two seconds this weekend to write to a hot guy on the personals site. No response. Kill me.

Oh, and I really miss someone. I had a dream about said someone. I don’t think there’s a future there but I’d take a tomorrow or two or 10. God, please for the love of You give me something to hold on to that’s not just a glass of wine.

“And all around your island
There’s a barricade
It keeps out the danger
It holds in the pain

Sometimes you’re happy
Sometimes you cry
Half of me is ocean
Half of me is sky

But you got a heart so big
It could crush this town
And I can’t hold out forever
Even walls fall down

And some things are over
Some things go on
And part of me you carry
Part of me is gone.”

— Tom Petty, “Walls (Circus)”

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