Pissed off all day. Wanted to scream and break stuff. It started when I opened my eyes- anxious because Tim had slept past his alarm again, but the anxiety never stopped or even slowed over the course of the day. It just got worse. By noon, I had the urge to jump in my car and take a drive so I could scream without anyone hearing me. I felt like I could knock down walls. Hurt people. At least one. Maybe two.
What was I so angry about? Anything. Everything. But really just the same one thing. She's dead.
It's not fair what happened to her! I hate it. I hate what I saw. I hate what she surely felt, even if it was only for one searing, white-hot, confusing instant. I hate that I wasn't there, that she was ALONE.
I hate that I can't muster even a shred of excitement for the stupid holidays. Ruined. Everything is ruined. Her chair will always be empty. Why do I have the feeling the holiday season will always be something to get through, never to enjoy? Am I a pessimist or am I a realist?
Pessimism? Pshaw! You say the glass is half-full. I don't say it's half-empty. I say, "what fucking glass?"
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