why? because all that's in the fridge that belongs to me is a fourth of a block of cheese.

today's that day where friends don't help, and surprisingly, ice cream doesn't help either. comics aren't helping. even morphine's cure for pain is leaving my anger alone.

i tried driving it off.

i tried eating as much cheese in one sitting as i could handle before diving for the lactaid.

i tried smoking until my throat charred, unidentifiable.

i tried the gym.

i tried sleeping.

i tried kicking something (i stubbed my toe).

i put shoes on, and i kicked something else.

i pounded my fists of fury into the pillow over and over.

i reasoned out loud with myself as i stared at the pile of dirty dishes.

nothing's helping.

i know, there's a stupid question lingering on your lips. "why are you so mad?"

I DON'T EVEN FUCKING KNOW!

i'm waiting for the sun to set. then it's ok for me to drink whisky and ask myself that same stupid question.

i had a dream while i was trying to sleep it off. i dreamt that he came home and woke me up. that's it. that was the whole dream. fucking sobbing on the couch for half an hour because of a ten second dream.

why?

it'll never fucking happen, that's why.

and you and me both are wondering why i'm angry?

i need one of three things: a cigarette, a snickers ice cream bar, or a person that will call me back and not try to get off the phone when i start whining. two out of three. i'm going to snappy mart.