I can't keep looking for work today.  I can't really do much else than lie on the floor and scream at god.  Like it's his fault.  It's not.  It's my fault.

I have until five o'clock to get myself together enough to get the children.  I'll be ready.

It happens every time.  There are no exceptions.  I love.  I am rejected.  Pattern recognition is a mark of intelligence.

I don't feel very intelligent.

Artifacts of this love have suffused every corner of my life.  Now I have to clean them all out.

Come get your goddamned shaving kit.