Sorry (but I bet you won't be)

This may be it for a while.

No, not because of impending baby. Because I'm just not feeling it. Because I don't think anyone gives a rat's ass, and because it's difficult to blog without power, or a phone line, and I'm not asking you for help or pity or money or answers or a lecture or advice or why I'm doing everything all wrong and how I should be living my life, I'm just saying that I'm not going to write when I'm not feeling it because it's all worthless crap when I DO feel it...so NOT feeling it is even worthlesser. Shut up - my blog, my words, I can make them up if I want to.

Because I have no other outlet for what's in my head right now (because no one, not a damned soul, wants to hear it from me, I ain't talkin' about it in Mundania...but this is MY blog and if you don't want to put up with my pissing and moaning you can click that little "x" button and shut me the hell up and I don't have to feel like I've burdened yet another poor soul with my shit):

I can't pay the water bill. It's three months past due.

I pay the power a few dollars at a time, and so far they've been patient, but tomorrow I am supposed to pay them a substantial amount and I don't have it, so the power will be off by the end of the week and it won't be back on until I pay what I owe and a hefty deposit besides. In three weeks or so, when Sprout is born, she'll be coming home to a cold, dark house. Welcome to the fucking world, you poor wee thing. Too bad you picked a loser for a mom.

I can't pay my van insurance, so I will be driving unlawfully for a while, if I drive at all.

I haven't eaten since that bowl of Jell-O yesterday afternoon. I can't bring myself to. The thought nauseates me.

I can't sleep. I'm tired all the time.

My back hurts, my neck and shoulders hurt, my head hurts...fuck, I'm one big ouch, but no one notices...or maybe (seems more likely) no one cares.

Tomorrow is my son's birthday...and he doesn't want to come home. He wants to stay with his father. His father never yells at him or asks him to clean his room or make sure there's toilet paper in the bathroom, and can buy him McDonald's and toys and video games, and I barely managed to scrape together enough dough for one birthday present and a cake...and I had to borrow money for the cake.

Every day, he realizes a little more what a worthless fucktard his mother is. Every day, he pulls away a little more...

Let me say it again, plainly - my son doesn't want me. I used to be the cure for all his ills, and now he's not even eight and he. Doesn't. Want. Me.

And I'm going to go through it all again with my daughter - she'll think I'm marvelous, at first, until she learns better. Then she'll turn her back, too. Why wouldn't they - when everyone else shows me so clearly that they don't want me, how can my children help but do the same?

So, yeah...it's so fucking cheerful inside my head...why wouldn't I want to share all this??

See you tomorrow, or not, or the next day, or not...and in the end, if I never came back, I know it'd be as significant and a fart in the wind. Zen, yo.