10 March 2010

I might kill my kids.

Seriously. They need a break from each other for a week or so. I need a break from the fighting for a month or so.

I still don't have a job. I'm applying for ten more this week. No expectations at all any more.

I want a couch. We are maybe looking tonight while the boys are at church. It doesn't have to be nice or pretty, so long as it is more comfortable than our futon.

I have to go. There seems to be yet another problem that could be easily solved by D insisting on respect and common decency by BOTH his sons and not just J.

I need a friggin' drink. . .

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