What goes down must come up.

Picture this, if you will: I'm standing at the sink at twilight, staring down at the "In-Sink-Erator" and drinking cold coffee that I got at noon and doctored with creamer and 5 packets of sugar (it's a grande size...why the independent coffee place felt the need to change their size list to match Starbucks, I'll never know), all while listening to the instrumental version of "A Beautiful Mine."

In a morbid moment, I fancy that my life has essentially just been shoved down into the dark hole and the "In-Sink-Erator" has been turned on. Everything feels discarded, chopped up, and scattered in a terrible way. I can't seem to be able to grab all of the pieces and fit them back together, the way one would assemble a jigsaw puzzle or a piece of furniture from Ikea. This, of course, is driving me into a dismal, desperate variety of insanity to the point of where it seems like every gamble I take, I lose, and the stakes keep getting higher and higher. My luck has run out, and I can't find any borrowed time to live off of.

Now, I'm normally not the type of person to get jealous or to compare myself to others, but I absolutely detest having salt rubbed in my wounds when they are just beginning to heal. Naturally, salt was rubbed in my wounds today at an absolutely perfect time. My first reaction was to punch the dick who, in my mind, could have done without getting his good news because he needs to have a lesson in humility. The dick really is the physical manifestation of everything that I hate in people. Normally, people only have one or two flaws, but this guy has them all. I'd offer to castrate him so that he can't procreate and pass on his awful personality and character flaws to the next generation, but something tells me that he wouldn't take me up on the offer. Instead, all I could do was grab my wallet, flee the office, and go get a cup of coffee.

While drinking my coffee at the aforementioned independent coffee place, I put my feelings down onto paper, folded that piece of paper up, and put it in my wallet. Then, I did what I do best, which was come up with an alternate route to go from point A to point B in my professional life (seeing as how the dick and others like him robbed me of my original plan [it's always easier to blame someone else than admit that you are the reason why you failed]). However, doing so failed to reassure me. I honestly have never felt more insecure in my life (even when I went bra-less for the first time at the tender age of 17 for a vendor show put on for Macy's West Coast division [I was wearing a backless halter top with a neckline that plunged to my belly button, which I wore because I was the only person who could fit into the size 0 jeans that were paired with the top], I was more confident that I am now...and I was terrified then). I can't afford to continue to fail like this, or I swear that I'll give up on life because what is the point of living if there is absofuckinglutely nothing to live for?