goddamn it..

I need my fucking life to make sense.
Complications abound, baby.

The more I try to get things cleaned up and packaged in a nice little "sign on the dotted line" package, the more other shit gets thrown at me.

Not literally... eww gross...

but yeah..

I feel like i'm on some sort of reality show...

Truman show meets Jonah meets... hell, I dunno.

some of my scattered brain today is the two year old.  some of it is his dad. some of it is his mom.

I need an escape.  Just a few hours of not going on an all expense paid guilt trip for daring to want some me time.

i'm not even asking for me time of the naked sort.

just...
me...

Give me a sign if this is actually a reality show.
a newspaper held upside down.
a stuttering TV televangelist on at a sports bar.
something

and dammit, keep reminding me things will be ok
C.D.

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