Fuck.

Ben just pointed out that I left my $120 vibrator out and the dog chewed on it. I mean, it was totally clean, I just didn’t put it back in its box. I need you know that I admit to being kind of a slob, but I stop short of A&E levels of gross.

Anyway, the point is I’m out of work, I didn’t make enough money to pay the rent last week, and now I literally just threw away $120.

This is 100% my fault and I’m an asshole. I have brain damage or something. At least she didn’t eat any of it, because the last thing I need is both a broken dog and a broken vibrator.

Wait. That makes it sound like I use my dog and my vibrator for the same thing. I assure you, I do not. Although I guess they would both fall under the blanket category of ‘general quality of life improvement.’ Today being an obvious exception.

This is only marginally about the dog, or the vibrator, or the $120. I knew a meltdown was coming. I was way too calm and competent last week for there not to be a complete and total breakdown of all systems at some point. And here it is.

I honestly kind of want to kill myself. But only because I’m so angry that there’s no other way to express it. Does anybody else ever get so mad you just want to burn your own house down with you and everything you own inside of it? I mean, I live with Ben, and in an apartment, so I guess the only safe way to do it would be to drag everything that’s mine into the middle of the street, make a pile, throw myself on top and self-immolate. But that would take a really long time, and I’d have to remove all Ben’s shit from my great-grandmother’s antique dresser because it would be rude to burn his things too just because I’m having a bad night. And then it gets to the point where you’re separating DVDs like “is this my copy of Mystery Men or yours? I’m about to commit arson, and I need to know.”

I know I say this every time I have an emotional breakdown, but everything I touch turns to shit. This is a symbol for my whole life. I finally decide I’m going to invest in my own mental and sexual health and buy seriously the best sex toy I’ve ever owned (not a coincidence that it’s the most expensive) and I fail to take any kind of care of my own stupid property and the dog fucking eats it. I left chocolate on the ottoman last week and she ate that too. Turns out it wasn’t nearly enough to poison her, and she was fine, but seriously. I should just pack a bindle and hit the rails. Or whatever. I don’t deserve anything I have, I can’t accomplish the simple task of PUTTING MY VIBRATOR AWAY. I should die alone.

I don’t even have a job. Oh God, I’m turning into my parents.

If anybody ever asks you what happened to me, just point them to this post. Because this is a sign of things to come. Everything is shit.


Disclaimer: I think these things are actually supposed to go on the front of stuff like this, but it’s late and you have no idea how difficult it is to accurately type this while I’m freaking out. Also my head hurts.

Anyway, as usual I did not sleep much last night, and then this morning I drove 3 shitty hours to Palm Desert and back by myself; between which, I spent a lot of time in the heat. I am beyond tired and it is now midnight. I’m going to sulk into our room, get in bed with my sweet and sleeping boyfriend and hopefully become unconscious. I’m sure I’ll be fine in the morning, but right now I’m really upset at the fact that I don’t have a job, and that I’m not an (incredibly unlikely) overnight success. This is translating itself as a symbol of my failure as a woman and as a professional. It doesn’t help that I’ve been working my ass off the last week getting everything set up. I feel very much that I am no longer running up a down escalator, I am falling. The only reason I can say that my perceptions are probably off is because of how many times this has happened before only to realize later that I was suffering from a severe case of exhaustive myopia.

And of course this whole thing is a joke, I don’t even own a vibrator and no one ever thinks of setting themselves on fire out of spite, because that would be crazy and I’m not crazy. For fucks sake.