"down" time

there is a time of night that I really hate.  its the hours spent alone with only my inner thoughts and believe me when I say that right now they are NOT good.  

I so don't need to be alone right now but I have no choice.  I have no one to talk to.  no one at all.  I want to cry and scream and rage at the night I want to be held and told that I will not lose the greatest part of me.  the phrase better half is so apt that I fear I will be broken and incomplete at a time in my life that I will never recover from.  my heart cant take this kind of damage. 

i'm supposed to "keep it together"  to put on my game face at work and pretend nothing matters except making them happy.

a thunderous WHY?! rings through my head constantly along with the cacophony of self recriminations, accusations, doubts, and thoughts too horrific to share.

I hate this time of night.
I hate myself.
I hate what this feels like.
I don't hate her.  even after all of this.  I still love her.  oh my god how I love her.  will she ever understand this?

and now for your consideration...

Thanks Bill.

To be, or not to be, that is the question:
Whether 'tis Nobler in the mind to suffer
The Slings and Arrows of outrageous Fortune,
Or to take Arms against a Sea of troubles,
And by opposing end them: to die, to sleep
No more; and by a sleep, to say we end
The Heart-ache, and the thousand Natural shocks
That Flesh is heir to? 'Tis a consummation
Devoutly to be wished. To die to sleep,
To sleep, perchance to Dream; Aye, there's the rub,
For in that sleep of death, what dreams may come,
When we have shuffled off this mortal coil,
Must give us pause. There's the respect
That makes Calamity of so long life:
For who would bear the Whips and Scorns of time,
The Oppressor's wrong, the proud man's Contumely,
The pangs of despised Love, the Law’s delay,
The insolence of Office, and the Spurns
That patient merit of the unworthy takes,
When he himself might his Quietus make
With a bare Bodkin? Who would Fardels bear,
To grunt and sweat under a weary life,
But that the dread of something after death,
The undiscovered Country, from whose bourn
No Traveller returns, Puzzles the will,
And makes us rather bear those ills we have,
Than fly to others that we know not of.
Thus Conscience does make Cowards of us all,
And thus the Native hue of Resolution
Is sicklied o'er, with the pale cast of Thought,
And enterprises of great pitch and moment,
With this regard their Currents turn awry,
And lose the name of Action. Soft you now,
The fair Ophelia? Nymph, in thy Orisons
Be all my sins remembered

BRRRRR!!!!

IT'S FREAKIN' COLD! 

ready for this?

62 FREAKIN' DEGREES

 

that was the temp in the dj booth.  and the club is kinda cool to the point that customers are wearing long sleeves and going out to their vehicles to get sweaters and hoodies. I have sent every customer that has complained about it to management and they have told me before even going that they already know they're not going to be listened to.  that there is a bad sign.   it has gotten so bad the A.C. line froze and melted and froze and melted and there was water inside a light fixture that got so bad it shorted and they had to call for a repairman to come fix things.  more $$$ gone because of their own stupidity and they complain about money being short?  can't be too short if you can buy a NEW BMW 7 series.

meanwhile i'm getting sick in the booth, my sinuses are going beserk and the post-nasal drip is making me cough and the cold is making my muscles tense up and get sore.  but it's all my imagination because of the diabetes and weight loss.  

 

there really are times when I wonder about their sanity and mine.  that's just the tip of the iceberg lately.  getting mad all over again thinking about it and need to chill  er.  um.. make that calm down a bit.