Woe, is me

I really don’t see the point to having money if you’re not going to use it.    I  don’t travel, my hang-out friends all live elsewhere , my tv is a tube set from the  last millennium; the weather here sucks in winter, trapping me inside for, oh, we’re going on 6 weeks now, pretty much.   It’s been this way, or worse, for the past 5 years.  I don’t kill myself, honestly, because of my cat.

And I’m not even a lesbian.

I’m also gutless, which fills me with so much self-disgust….  I am too depressed to go to Meeting, and haven’t been for the past several weeks; I think 1x this year, so far. All I do is therapy, which I don’t see the point of, anymore.  I’ve given up  on ever walking again, so why bother?  I’m miserable 24x7 and gutless.  Butch repeatedly tells me I’m getting worse, and, finally, I’m ready  to agree with him.  I have to include him in all my travel plans, or else the $-people won’t approve my travel plans, & he gets pissy when I ask him to help me get ready for a trip that doesn’t include him, so I don’t go anywhere.  I gave him his Christmas bonus early last by letting him go crazy in S.F., but that didn’t him prevent him from taking a cash bonus at the end  of the year.   NO ONE checks with me before pissing away my money.  

I don’t think I’ve lied this Millennium, ‘cause Quakers  believe  if you lie to someone, you lie to that of God within them.  I try so hard to be good, but honestly, look where it’s gotten me.

I didn’t realize, when I created the Trust, that I was enslaving my free will. Or, abdicating it.

“May I have my balls back, please?”