What's The Right Answer

Just ran out to the liquor store.

The young lady at the register asked me how I'm doing and of course I said "Not too bad!"

A more truthful answer would have been "I really don't know. I really don't fucking know."

Because I don't.

Since I started the second job I have been absolutely destroyed; barely functioning as a human being. Sad, depressed, angry, as hard and deep as any of those emotions can go.

But that's on me. I'm weak. I can't handle being forced to be responsible. And the bathroom mirror is laughing at me. Hysterically. Saying "Are you for real? Is that what you're doing with your life?"

Beyond that, we have a dicktator, and mindless, spineless sycophants actively working to destroy my life and yours. 

The only people that will survive this vicious, killing horror are those with money in the bank. That is the only thing that will protect you when this country comes crashing down.

I don't have any.

I want a creative career that pays well, I don't want anybody telling me what to do, where to do it, and what to wear when I get there.

I want my grandson to love and respect me.

I want to succeed at an appreciable level in the short time I have left, so my sons will have fond memories of "Dad's Last Stand."

You know, come to think of it - it is better that I said "Not too bad" rather than to speak the truth.

The fine, young lady wouldn't have given a shit anyway.