I hate the weather. I hate my medication. I am so depressed. I'm sick of stroopwafels and bicycles. I love my kids, but I think they're trying to kill me. My partner is a pain in my ass. I hate mopping the floor. I hate that my dogs keep vomiting and pissing everywhere.
I hate my clogs. I hate that I am too tired to wear high heels. I hate remembering how beautiful I once was. And respected. And I made money. I hate that I sold my beautiful 4-bedroom house that was "too small" when I was single. I wish I could go live there by the water - the REAL water - and have a good life. And a car.
I am sick of laundry. Why is there always so much of it? It is the cockroach of housework.
I hate that people here don't chitchat. I want meaningless conversation with people I don't care about, God fucking damnit. I want 32-oz. to-go coffee that I can spill on my lap while I drive an automatic transmission car.
I'm tired. I'm tired of everything being my fault all the time. I am tired of the energy it takes to live away from my family and the people who once admired me. I fucking hate tulips.