Seasonal Affective Disorder: The Real Amityville Horror

It's raining. Again. Still.

I'm tired of the gray and the wet, and the no-sun and not-dry. Sick and tired of it.
I've had it with a scowling sky. Not sure why its so pissed off. It's not like it has to put up with my life. The sky doesn't have to pay bills and burn rejection letters and kiss ass to get a job. The sky doesn't have to live with people it wish it could kill-but-make-it-look-like-an-accident.

Stupid weather system asshole. I hate you. Try living in my shoes, you retarded, ugly, colorless, smothering, oppressive ceiling. You want something to rain about? I'll give you something to rain about. You clean the litterbox and take out the garbage and pay my bills for a change. You lie awake until 5 o'clock in the morning, for two years and counting. You try to repress the urge to gouge out every rough patch on your face and neck when the Alpha Hydroxy shit stops working.

You couldn't do it. You wouldn't last a minute in my skin so stop your raining.

Get out. GEEET OOUT!!


Satanically,

Cindy