Does anybody read these?

Life...

I'm having a shitty day today. A 15-minute check-up at the doctor turned in to 4 hours of tests. Now I'm dreadfully behind at work and an emotional mess. So really, there's no time to write right now.

I'm not going to the Land of Misfit Toys today because I need some time to let all this sink in. If it weren't for the fact that I am buried under a mess or work here, I'd have just gone back to bed.

I'll probably talk about it more later, because I'm scared and I'm going to need to talk. Although it's still really slow getting words to come out on paper the way I want them to right now.

I've been thinking about all the bullshit that I've subjected everyone to lately, over stupid shit that doesn't matter. That's not very fair of me. True other people weren't fair first, and that's why I've been hostile lately, but that's just how it is. Life's not fair.

It could be worse, though. Believe me.

At least as long as your life sucks, you still have one. I just need to figure out to stop worrying and stop stressing myself out. It's never happened before, so I'm not really sure I can conquer it anytime soon. For me, not worrying means not caring, and I'm just not sure if I need to add apathy to my list of issues.

I'm alive. Apparently that's a good thing. And hopefully that trend will continue for quite a while. The doctors seem to think it will. Yay, doctors. I could be much sicker, so I guess I'm getting off easy.

My new medicine makes me feel weird, and I don't want to take it.

I don't want to take any medicine, because I'm thirty-fucking-years old and way too young for this shit.

I hate that I feel like I'm all alone right now. I hate that I feel like I'm going to be alone for the rest of my life. I just want someone to hold me and tell me it's going to be OK. I hate that I feel like we're expending a lot of money, time and energy to prolong a life that's been subpar to say the least, with no signs of improving anytime soon. I know that sounds awful. It's not like I have a brain tumor or anything, but when the doctor was talking to me today, I couldn't help but wonder who'd really miss me if I had a heart attack at 40 years old. I don't have kids, I don't have a spouse. Hell, I don't even have a dog. And I know I need to live for me, but frankly I've never really been that impressed. I'm getting old, and lately that reality has hit me like a ton of bricks. I'm not going to have the big family I always wanted to have. I've never going to be thin. I feel like I woke up one day and I've totally fucked up my life and now I'm realizing that it actually is finite, and age is more than a fucking number. There are certain windows of opportunity, and they are closing right before my eyes. And there's nothing I can do to stop it, because there is no fountain of youth. Or a fountain of thin or a fountain of love, for that matter...

I hate that I sound like a big whiny bitch right now even though my problems are not nearly as bad as other people's. But, you know what, they're my problems. And I'm scared shitless, and I don't know what to do. I feel really shitty, and it seems like as soon as things start to get OK they aren't OK anymore.

Frankly, I just need to have a drink, get laid and smoke a cigarette. Thank goodness I have some whiskey at home, because the chances of me getting laid are pretty freaking laughable, and I'm permanantly off the cigarettes. Doctor's orders.

On the plus side, I've completely forgotten about the folliculitis that I seemed to have caught when I got my hair done Saturday.

posted by Laura at 12:37 PM