I didn't write yesterday because I was in such a foul mood.
I don't know if I'm any better off today or not, but I'm writing anyway.
I'm compelled to. I have to. I write so I don't go mad.

People will disappoint you.
(Oh, I guess I'm in no better mood today. Oh well.)
Seriously, though. People will disappoint you. The general public, the people you care about. Friends, family members, lovers. I know that. You know that. It's something we're reminded of almost daily. It's not a big surprise or some new epiphany. So, if we're all aware, why then is it still so surprising when it happens? Why does it still cause us to be so hurt, so bitter, so resentful?
Stupid. Stupid people. Stupid disappointment.

"Summer vacation" has begun and I am already struggling to find ways to entertain my son. Everything costs money. Hey- look, Dawson, a lake! Hopefully that will be the primary source of entertainment this summer. Oh, that and basketball and soccer. The high school has a very strenuous summer program for each. And it starts in less than a week! We are going to be very, very busy.
Speaking of which...
My boy is a freshman. Ugh. I don't want time to continue to move so quickly. I don't want him to grow up. No, don't grow up. Don't leave me, son.
Norman Bates's friggin mother.

I hardly see or hear from my other child. She's busy, I know. Busy with school and work. Busy being an adult. Busy making poor relationship choices (much like her mother, unfortunately).
I think you worry as much, if not more, when they've left the nest.

In other news...
Well, there really is no other news.
Everything is fairly status quo.

The dog still drives me crazy, but I love him.
The lake is still beautiful, and brings me peace, on occasion.
I still miss my adult daughter; I still suck the life out of my teenage son.
I still stress about work.
I still struggle financially.
I'm still alone most of the time.
I still wait for the Abilify to make me feel more human.
I still agonize over whether or not to go back to school.
I still miss my father.
I still feel lonely.
I still hate just about everything. I'm still a romantic misanthrope.