Rosemary and the Terrible, Horrible, No-Good, Very Bad Day

I hate everyone and everything. I am combining PMS with a Slim-Fast desperation diet. That in and of itself should be a sign of the apocalypse.

I'm going through a lot of shit right now. I've just had words with my mom, who is also going through a lot of shit right now. She tells me that "things have to get better." I personally say, "fuck that." I want someone to be as fucking angry as I am, and to wonder with me when the fuck things are going to turn around. I don't want anyone to tell me 'it HAS to get better' because right now, in my heart, it's not going to. And I need to feel and work through the rage. And right now, when I really don't think I can possibly feel more alone, I need to be able to put all the unspeakable feelings I have into words. And those words are, "I want to get hit by a bus because if I off myself, insurance won't pay for it." That is how I describe how I feel. Am I going to step out into the middle of Houston Street and Broadway on a red light? What are you, fucking nuts? But to say it gets it off my chest, where it could fester like the bronchitis I'm also on Zithromax for right now.

So let's review - I'm not talking to my mother, I'm disgusted with all the recruiters that swear to Mike he is a shoo-in for the jobs that keep falling through, and I don't want to lean on my friends, who all have their own issues to deal with. I wish I could just crawl into a fucking hole with my kids and wait for all this shit to blow over.

I have cried every day on the way to work since my second day - and I cried on the way home from work on my first. Every morning, I stand to the side of the building and just steel myself before I can walk into the doors. And then as I wait for the elevator, I feel my shoulders slouch as I take on the surrendering pose. I'm still applying to jobs, but of course, no interviews.

I say fuck a lot now.

Did I mention that I wisely chose this week to start my diet of desperation? I'm into day three on Slim-Fast. Would you like to shoot me in the fucking eye or should I do the honor myself?
My neurologist took one look at me and said, "You need to defuse. What's going on in your life?" So my neurologist became my therapist, because my therapist only has office hours in my neighborhood once a week - and my insurance co-pay with this shitass plan is $75 a visit - which would require me to need even more fucking therapy. So I'm on my seizure meds for at least another year. She told me to call her in a year for my next checkup and we'll discuss.

I won't even go into the mess that my mom is dealing with when it comes to my stepdad.

I went to the doctor yesterday and he took my blood pressure. He pronounced it normal. I had him take it again because I couldn't believe it wasn't through the ceiling.

I think I need to go cry in the bathroom again, and await the arrival of the fucking locusts.