I swear to God, if you ask me to do something, knowing that my life is full to the brim with my own shit and trying to parent and trying to work and trying to figure out what I DID SO GODDAMNED WRONG for you to leave me, I am willing to bet you can SCHEDULE YOUR OWN FUCKING CAR PAYMENT and then when I forget because SWEET JESUS I AM FUCKING BROKEN AND REMEMBERING TO EAT IS HARD ENOUGH you feel it is appropriate for you to YELL AT ME BECAUSE YOU GOT A PHONECALL FROM THE BANK?
FUCK YOU.
FUCK YOU.
FUCK YOU.
Oh, one more thing.
FUCK YOU.
Dear Lord, make the next 2+ months fly by so I can have a piece of paper in my hands that says I don't have to take his shit anymore.
Amen.
I love you.
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