Every time I walk through another trauma, I think it will be the last time, but at nearly forty years old, I have no hope. I feel like it just continues to be dumped on me. Oh man, I miss my Tolstoy. I cannot believe this is how it went down.
My mother did not even look at me when I walked out the door. Not even good bye. Thanks for playing the fucked up mother game. See ya. Have a nice life. Nothing. I am fucking horrified and disgusted that this is how it is. But THIS IS HOW IT IS. No wonder why I have been so fucked up.
She has said hardly three words to me, since she tossed me onto the street, aside from that she wishes I could bring Tolstoy with me and get a storage unit for my stuff. Well, no one can ever have it all, now can we?
While we are on the subject of wishes, there are a lot of things that I wish. I wish I could take my dog, I wish I had some time to find a place to go. I wish I had a family. I wish I had a boyfriend, no actually a husband would be great. I wish I had children. And my own something in the world.
And, sweet mcjesus, I wish I had a mother that gave a rat's ass, or had an ounce of compassion for anyone, besides herself. But, you know what they say, if wishes were horses, beggars would ride. Oh, how I wish...
Until next time.
