I am so ashamed of how I’m feeling. Everyone is asking me to talk more, but I fear they’ll realise just how horrible I am.
I want to give up. I want to leave little man in ireland, abandon OH, and take no more breaths on this earth.
I’m a quitter, a waste of space and I’ve been experimenting with ligatures.
I’m no good for either of them anyway. Im no good for anyone.
Just do it loopy, end your pain.
Father Christmas had a lot on his plate this year. He’s been around for centuries, so the poor fella is bound to be going a little senile. With millions of children and gifts to sort; its not surprising really that items could end up lost or forgotten.
From what I’ve heard, he was fairly heavily medicated this year; and so I can only assume that his often drug induced defuddled state; is accountable for the art easel I uncovered today in our bedroom wardrobe.
I wonder if he’s forgotten anything else?