No. I’m not dead.

Feel like it, but I’m not, really.

Car door: I just slammed the door and the whole window shattered. No, I did not put my fist through it, though I had seriously contemplated making the attempt before I got out of the truck. So unless I’ve developed unconscious telekinetic powers in the last month, it was a freak accident.

This week has been pretty hairy. Yes, J and I fought, but I think we’ve come to some kind of understanding. No, I don’t really feel like talking about it, but we’ve both realised a few things.

Also got raked over the coals at work. Seems there are holes in my education, and thus an awful lot of work for me to do to catch up. One word: Fuck.

Last night J went downstairs near the kiddo’s curfew time to go get himself a drink at the store, but he came back with a very drunk kiddo in tow. Kiddo had an encounter of the kind no fifteen year old should have to even be exposed to. Seems a friend of hers had met someone on the internet and persuaded her to come with her to meet said friend because she was nervous. She should have been. This guy fed them alcohol and possibly other things and did who knows what else. It makes me angry to even speculate. What she remembers is enough to turn me cold.

Mama Troll wants to rip off some limbs.

listening to: Hawksley Workman – When You Gonna Flower
eating: ugh… food…
drinking: iced tea
reading: I think it’s safer not to
feeling: RRrrrrrage
headspace: Must. Kill.