Dear diary...

Fuck you. You never told me it would be this hard. You never told me I'd end up like this, miserable and unfulfilled, 3 days shy of 33. You never said a word about life not being fair, about difficult choices and how difficult they really are. It's supposed to be my week, and I'm supposed to feel great, and mostly I'm just miserable and trying my hardest to find a way through it. Next time could you warn me? Or the next me? Thanks.

2 years after the fact I finally got some shelves for my window nook. I guess that's one good thing. The CD's are at last out of the bookshelf where there are already too many books. And I want a new couch, and I want the ruts on the street to go away already, and I really want things to be different. I need more, life, do you hear me? Hello?