One of my babies is sick, and it’s kind of tearing me up inside.

Today is one of those belly crawl days. All I want to do is go home and sleep. And when I wake up, I want my golden fucking dog to be healthy and happy.

When people ask me if I think there’s an afterlife, I usually say no. Ditto if I think there’s a supreme creator out there. But this is only half the truth. The truth is, I hope there isn’t. I hope that once we’re done with this life, we’re done with the pain and the suffering, and we don’t have to rehash the bullshit over and over. If there’s a God, and we head into their clutches, it’ll be able to do that trick, and make you think he had some fucking plan, that somehow, all the pain you felt was for your own fucking good. Like an abusive parent or spouse, only we’ll have to squat in it for eternity.

You made me do this to you.

The litany of blame.

The gospel of abuse.