Terribly cheery (I'm being sarcastic)

Sometimes, I just don’t see the point. Like today. I am miserable, hate everything & everybody around me, hate everything about my life. Last night, I lay in bed, fielding my son’s kicks to the stomach and face (he’s a rough sleeper, and was in bed with me), and started wondering, what the fuck am I still doing here? I mean, WHAT THE FUCK AM I DOING HERE?

Let’s see, working a dead end job for a questionable person, and an even more questionable salary. Worrying about making ends meet, every day. Trying to change my opinions about the rest of the human race to include at least SOME positive adjectives. Regretting dreams that were just never born. Fighting, each and every day, to try and make life easier for my son (dealing with a disheartened 6 year old, while being dejected myself, is no picnic), and friends …. yeah …. friends. I’ve come to the realisation that I’m better off without most of the people I call friends.

See, I’m a cheerful person, on the surface. Which apparently makes my ‘friends’ feel like they have the right to bitch and moan, but on the rare occasion that I feel the need to vent, they sit and stare into the distance with these vacant expressions, before changing the subject back to them, rather artlessly. Social isolation has a certain tranquillity to it, making the aggravation of trying to get your friends to show the same respect you do, null and void.

And men, ah men, my favourite subject. No matter how hard I try, they just keep proving my beliefs are correct. Which is not a good thing. Causal friends who find a way to turn ANY and EVERY subject and discussion into a innuendo filled, sexually suggestive torture session. And, no matter how hard I try to keep things on a platonic level, drag me down into sticky, revolting place. The image I see in my mind’s eye, is me, bound and gagged in a cave where the stalagtites drip semen onto me, running into my eyes, filling my nose, making every moment of what’s supposed to be fun, a horrid and gruesome experience. Like I’m gagging on it, and no matter how hard I try, sex is the one and only thing men see when they look at me.

Sometimes I feel like a comet, hurtling through spacewithout direction or goal, heavy enough to crush planets, moons, myself, but too light to carry everything I have heaped on myself. Nothing in every direction, nothing but time passing, with nothing to show at the end of it.

So what’s the point? Why should I be here? I honestly don’t know, and I honestly wish I wasn’t. Yes, tomorrow I’ll probably smile at you again, should you see me somewhere. But, maybe if you actually bothered to look at my eyes, you’d see that behind that smile, is a big empty nothing. The final frontier. Fuck-all. Nothing.

You have yourself a good day now, y'hear?