No calls about the job with the new dumbed-down résumé (I still think it’s his age and color that’s hindering him). This both surprises and doesn’t surprise me. I’m surprised because it was for shit pay. Doesn’t God want us to be poor? I mean isn’t that the whole point here? But it was for a permanent position too, and after 4 years without one, I’d say that’s a definite no-no as far as what’s allowed in our cards these days. Really, I can’t see him ever working a permanent position ever again in our lives. I still say he’ll get just a few weeks here and a few months there till he’s old enough to retire and then maybe we can get the hell out of this tiny old trailer and away from Jesse’s dogs and his fucking motorcycle and other shit.

But that’s questionable too. I wish I could say I was happy and that things are going well, but I feel anything but happy right now, PMSing or not. I’m very depressed. I feel drained as hell both physically and mentally. And totally helpless. I slept 12 hours after being exhausted all day yesterday yet I’m still exhausted. Tom thinks it’s a combination of PMS and the intense workouts. Could be but maybe it’s that I’m tired of life and living. I just don’t want to live feeling like I’m this puppet on a string destined to act out this script and live a life I don’t want to live.

Nane said not to give up on life and that maybe he’d get a job tomorrow and maybe my next book would be a best seller (I’d probably win the lottery before the second thing happened), and well, a lot of people tell me maybe this will happen and maybe that will happen. But there’s only so long I can go on living on maybes that never happen. I feel like I’m only allowed to exist, but not live. I also still feel like something up there sees me as this undeserving piece of shit that must be denied every single dream she could ever have. Something that has enjoyed sitting back and allowing so many bad things to happen to me in my life.

I feel so unaccomplished and inadequate. Just cuz I’ve learned a few languages and written a few books doesn’t mean I’ve accomplished much in life. Really, I feel like such an accomplished loser and that all I’ve managed to “accomplish” is fucking up!

Back when I once wanted to be a big-time singer I wasn’t surprised that wasn’t meant to be. That was asking for a bit much, wasn’t it? But then I wanted to be a mom and when I saw I couldn’t even get that, that’s what made me believe that it didn’t matter what I wanted. As long as it was me that wanted it, it would be forever denied me. I eventually became glad for various reasons that stardom and motherhood never happened. But then one day I dreamed of living in a modest, simple little house that wasn’t a mansion but that wasn’t puny either, nor did it include the sounds of other people’s animals. I thought that maybe – just maybe – it would be possible to achieve since this was my first material dream. But no. Anything I long for must remain forever out of reach; far-fetched, reasonable, materialistic or “normal.”

I must also continue to be one of life’s little flukes of nature who can’t have a normal sleeping schedule, a normal job, a normal sex life and do things most people do like get in a car and drive it fearlessly. Oh, and I must, must, must love and lust other women who don’t feel the least bit of attraction or feelings for me in return.

I was reading a friend’s post about how she doesn’t get why God punishes people like by letting their babies die while He rewards those who wreak havoc on people’s lives just because they can. Well, maybe I just need to be an ass of sorts and start dumping on people a bit. Not to the point that they’re harmed or that I’m breaking the law, but maybe if I’d be a little bit meaner and pick on someone just for the hell of it, better things would come our way. Or maybe I’d simply be unable to do so because of the guilt I’d feel. At the same time I’m getting more numb with age I’m also feeling things I couldn’t feel before when I was younger and guilt is one of them. Oh, I’m not as compassionate as most folks out there. Don’t get me wrong. If someone shot Jesse’s dogs right now most people would want to shoot them. I’d want to send them a thank-you card. So I ain’t all sugar and spice and everything nice. No way. But to me, there’s a difference between picking on people and forever silencing dogs that drive some of us crazy for a good 15 hours a week or so. So if someone said to me that so and so was a real jerk, go pick on them, I don’t know that I could. I’m just not 25 anymore. I’m not even who I was a couple of years ago.

What I don’t get is why I keep dreaming of the troll lately.

Tom just said the color toner cartridges have finally run out on the laser printer I won a few years ago. So maybe in 5 years, we can afford to renew them. At least they lasted 3 years.

In reality, I am becoming more and more forgetful and wondering why. Is it just age? Because I do so much? Something else?

In my imagination, he turns 55 and doesn’t have a job worth hanging onto, if he has one at all. We find out there’s more money than expected in his pension fund. We buy a toy trailer and head for Florida. Then after he gets a job we rent a nice little house in a peaceful retirement community where dogs are household pets and not left outdoors for hours at a time let alone around the clock.

Yeah, see what a wild and active imagination I have? He is gonna start pushing for information, though, as to just how much – if anything – we can expect to receive. I’m guessing that if there’s anything at all we’re only looking at 3 to 5 grand. He thinks there’ll be something, but has no guesses as to how much it could be.

If by some miracle there’s a hell of a lot more than I think there is, then we need to find out the age requirements for Florida’s senior communities because if it’s 65 for both people, we may as well stay here. I will not live in the mainstream ever again unless it’s out in the country like we are now. But there are no rural areas of Florida unless you want to live in the swamps with the alligators. No thanks! I would really rather stick with Jesse’s dogs and fleet of vehicles than add the car stereos and the screaming children to the mix.