Today I’ve felt good. I’ve got lots done. Now I wish I were back at work. It would seem I’m not allowed to be jolly or jovial in my own house. I’m fucking sick of it. Maybe it’s time I looked for somewhere else to live. I’ve had a week of really bad stomach upset. I’ve had time off work over it. I’m back at it now though. I’ve got to be. I’m a walking fucking wallet and I’m sick of it. I’ve wirked my fucking fits off for the 10 years we’ve lived where we do. I’ve fought through severe mental illness. I’ve fought through almost being broke every 3 months lately. I’ve fought through far too fucking much. Fuck it all. It can all fuck off. My wife is miserable whoever I’m in a good mood. My daughter swears at me and tells me to fuck off. I think I finally get the message. They want me to fuck off. Maybe I actually will. Fuck it all. Sell the house and pocket half what’s left after the mortgage is paid. I doubt it’ll be too much as the house is in need of shit doing to it. Not least a new boiler. Time I started loving for myself instead of being a slave to a huge fucking debt that was put upon me months after my mum died. How fucking cruel. Pushing me to sell and move house months after my mums death. No time to grieve. Ever. Nope. Just wait a few years and mentally crack badly and live through 12-18 months of a mental breakdown while still having to work and pay most of the bills. It can all FUCK OFF.
