Foggin' fishbowl

I hate this.

I wander and wander and it must be circles because I always end up back in this same place where you hate me and I hate me because you hate me.

I'm not good enough.

I don't listen.

I don't extend enough desire to hear about your day.

Then I do ask and it's a chore for you to tell me. WTF.

I'm wrong, you're right.

I'm a hoarding pack rat, and you're organized and clean.

Fine.

Fuck it.

You're better than I am.

HAPPY?

I hate this place where I'm never what you want when you want, and my head is fit to crack and I'm willing to talk to you while I feel like puking just to hear you. The self-obsessed ignorant hyena laughing imbeciles I call family Tweens are in the basement watching something stupid, and their laughter hurts more than your screams. But I still want to hear about your day. I want to know how you're doing. I want to be near you. I want to tell you how I'm feeling....but I'm afraid you hate me. I'm afraid you'll hate me if I tell you your "inside voice" is still like screaming to me. I will probably be awake due to Tweenage until after 11, and still have to get up and be functional at 555...YAY. I'll call you after I get to work, don't worry - I didn't forget.

It sounds like thunder outside, and all I want is for it to pour. I want the world to feel my tears right now.

I hate this. This fog.

This fishbowl - I can only see so far, and as soon as I move I couldn't see what was there...I'm wandering, and don't know if I want you to find me or leave me the hell alone.

Good night.