::Let Me Clear My Throat::

This will be my last post. I don't see a point in writing miserable letters to myself anymore. It's not cathartic, it just serves as a reminder of how pathetic my life is. I've been knocked down more times than what should be allowed on one person. Each time I went down, it was harder to pick myself back up. And everytime, as soon as I finally put all my pieces back together, life had to come swooping in to deal me yet another cruel blow. I am tired of picking up the pieces. Seriously, why fucking bother anymore? I'm tired of this shit. It's easier to just stay broken; why waste anymore energy trying to fix something that's meant to be a mess? Positivity isn't gonna fix me. I.. You know what? Fuck it. Whatever. I'm done.

Life has been pretty beige lately, which explains my absence. Before this, my only real source of stimulation had been my daughter's imminent cardiac surgery. Now that it's over and the dust has settled, I'm pretty much out of gas and just coasting along. (And yes, she is recovering very well.) It's been pointed out to me on more than one occasion that I haven't been very social lately. I'm not depressed, I feel OK, my job is good, my bills are paid, I've just been a homebody. I don't have the desire to get dressed up and go out and be all "woo girl", or worse, a third wheel with all of my coupled up friends. I have plans to go to a football game in the opponents city in two weeks. My friends are excited to party in a new city the night before... I'm excited for the game. I'm over partying. And after a string of really bad dates/quasi relationships, I'm over attempting to put myself on that path again. I predicted this would happ...