So what becoms of you, my love? When they have finally stripped you of...

...The handbags and the gladrags that your poor old granddad had to sweat to buy you?

I want to run. I want to hide… but I can’t because they won’t let me. Who are they? I wish I knew because if they ever showed their face I would punch them in the throat and laugh while they choked. I have, in the last months, written some blogs that make me seem like a downtrodden person with little hope or happiness. Some have even called me “emo” and decided she was the reason for my unhappiness. If she only knew the half of it… You see, you can cal me a whiner or “emo” all you like but until you have lived life in my shoes you will never understand where I am coming from. If you did spend a month seeing what I see and having things happen to you as they do me, you would come back looking at me and telling me how sorry you are that things are the way they are. It is easy to sit on your beauty and wealthy parents and scholarships and call me a whiner. How does it feel to have good genes? Good upbringing? I wouldn’t know really. When I was born my father drove a truck and my mother stamped out telephone parts on an assembly line. My nursery was an eight by eight room with old carpet and a cracked window. I was driven home in a ten year old Pontiac. My toys were usually broken before they ever got to me. I never had a chance from day one.

My father was fat. So was his mother. So am I. Why don’t I exercise more or eat better? I do both. I play hockey and run on a treadmill. I do indulge in some good barbecue on occasion but I mostly stick to salads or skinless chicken with veggies. I dropped forty pounds in the last year but no more is coming off. I talk to girls who laugh at my jokes and look me in the eye but they must have found someone with a better body because they all seem to go away. As I type this I sit in my mother’s house in boxers wishing for a brand new life. Just let me start over and I will make it right. The truth is, however, that this is who I am and it is who I am stuck with. Bad things happen to me all the time and one day I will get used to it and learn to live with it. If there is a god or Jesus, he is looking own at me laughing at my troubles. Why do I think he is laughing? Well, he certainly is not helping. All I need is just a little bit of luck every now and again but I get nothing. No extra push… nothing.

I bought a laptop and I loved it. My dog broke it so I bought another one. I loved it as well and used it to write every day. Well, some kids down the street decided that they wanted it along with everything else of value in my house. They kicked in the door and raided the place. Tore up the house and took everything. No problem, right? Just call the insurance company and file a claim. It is, after all, what they are there for. Nope. Claim was denied because they can’t get it in their heads that we had all the things we said we did. Your Jesus must have laughed at that one good. I did not find it as amusing. Well, I am ready to move out of the neighborhood then and decide on Manor House as my new home… Wait… Nope… The apartment in Vegas was left a mess so they filed a claim against us and now I can’t get any apartment let alone a loft Downtown. So Here I am at 27 years old in my mother’s house. Fuck you for calling me “emo”. I am upset and have every right to be.

This shit has been going on since birth. I was premature and almost died then. When I was two I was struck in the head by a wooden swing. As a result I was in a coma for a while and almost died. Nothing has been easy… as a matter of fact, everything has been as hard as it possibly can be. Every get pulled over for speeding and gotten off with a warning? I haven’t. I get pulled over for speeding and I get hit with a fine for a broken taillight as well. Who ever gets a ticket for that? Me. My entire life has been uphill and I am tired of it… When is it going to be my turn?

Once, in Vegas, I put five dollars in a slot machine. It paid off nothing. I left the machine and two seconds later it is ringing and lighting up. An old lady put in two dollars and won five grand. This is my life. If you want to call me a whiner or a loser or “emo”, go ahead. Trade me. Let’s see how you like living life as AJ. See what a little bit of light in a dark world can do? I really could care less if the cunt lives or dies yet her calling me “emo” pisses me off.

My wine is always turned and my milk sour. I will be the one to pick out the electronic at wal-mart that does not work. This is my cross to bear and I must walk alone. Oh and to a few of you who still read these even when you say you don’t care… go fuck yourselves. I hope you swallow something that hatches in your intestines and eats you from the inside out with a pain that rivals the heat of a thousand white hot burning suns. And then you die. Thanks.

AJ