I've had a pretty horrible week. My boyfriend was sick and as soon as he was better I was sick. It started on Thursday, it's now Thursday again, and I still feel like crap. I've missed two days of work. This month's paycheque is not going to be stellar.
Just before creating the den of sick, my boyfriend and I had one of our little talks in which we discuss breaking up for the millionth time. I guess this time it was a little different. At least it seemed more final somehow, but we haven't talked about the specifics. He brought it up the other day when I was already wanting to jump off a bridge because I already I felt like crap. He didn't like it too much when I just changed the subject, but there's only so much misery I can stand at one time, you know?
I have a really special kind of self-loathing going on these days. It's even preventing me from working on my novel. I can't stand the thought of my main character right now; she disgusts me because she comes from me.
All that keeps running through my head is it doesn't matter, it doesn't matter, it doesn't matter...cause a black-eyed dog he called at my door.