...between the poles and the Equator, don't send a private investigator to find me please...

Pink Verdana. My favorite font. Yes, I have one of those. It's really only the beginning of what is wrong with me. Friends don't let friends have font preferences. I think Moses wanted that on the tablets but unfortunately he has chosen a 12pt Courier New and had to leave it off. 

Algorithms bother me as well. It's more than a little creepy that I should queue up Michael Penn's "No Myth" and YouTube should recommend a dozen and a half songs that I would have probably picked myself as a follow up. Granted, it probably never saw that I would randomly pick to listen to "The Crab Song" by Faith No More...but now that I have whoa YouTube is onto me big time. Drats! 

Imagine me with a twisted frowny face that can not possibly be replicated with symbols. Yeah. It's been that kind of week. I am not even sure why I let myself get excited about possibilities. They are not endless and always do seem to end. Sprouting more gray as I type, that is how fabulous I am right now. 

Sigh. 

Sitting here the last couple of days, uber-depressed, ultra-uncertain and uniquely despondent. There's not really any sort of theological or philosophical nudging that is going to the fix the broken that this is. If you missed the post the other day, then you missed that I have been reading old writings which only serve to amplify how not okay, not better, not progressing life really is. 

I should not have to go Captain Dan everyday of my life. So tired about hearing about how it has to be bad so you are grateful for the good. I was never ungrateful for the good! I think the events of the last four years are unduly cruel...unless, of course, God's plan for me is to create a woman who makes Madalyn Murray O'Hair look like a sweet, little Daisy scout. If that is the plan, then yes, all of this makes perfect sense.

I regret that I ever tried to do anything productive with my life. I genuinely regret the time I wasted going to college. College took so much time away from Jordan. I could have been a better mother to her...it was supposed to be okay. The time away was all going to be worth it. College was supposed to afford us things that I supposedly would have never been able to provide with only a high school education. I had so much hope...

It's hard, you know, having my kids spaced as they are. I can't look at the youngest and think he has a bright and limitless future ahead of him because all I can remember is how I looked at the oldest through those rose-colored shades and how despite my hard-work and best efforts...not, didn't really happen. 

I just don't even know what the hell I am supposed to do anymore. Completely give up? Let all our shit go, declare bankruptcy, go on welfare and numb myself with a state-funded addiction to painkillers and anti-anxiety medication? (For the record, the fantasy addiction is not a current addiction. We can barely afford our insurance, let alone the cost of actually using it.) 

Really getting that wanderlust again. Get the hell out of Dayton and finding some place where there is a job market that wants me...or my husband...or my kid for that matter since she can't seem to get hired anywhere either. Existence is not supposed to be this hard. I know all about the lilies or whatever who never worry and everything is taken care of blah blah blah. 

I am not even sure why I write anymore. All it does is stir up my monkey rage. People don't want to read that. heck, people don't want to read when I am brilliantly funny either because I have loads of unliked statuses that fit in that category. I was thinking about forcing myself to be more disciplined with my writing, but what's the point? I mean, I am my biggest fan...unless there are lurkers who have built shrines to me in cluttered plasticware cupboards. 

I dunno. I just can't do this. Not without heavy sedation. So that when this descent finally ends with a thud, I'll be too far gone to feel the pain of impact.