Jaunuary 10

Divorced, depressed, dingus. 

no more and no less could possibly illuminate the irate anxieties that race through my veins on any given January day.

I walk to work; I wallow in my work; I wrangle with work. 

I lost my incompitent friends in the years a daily, dying marriage. Of course the continuous swallowing of scotch may of blinded my marital judgment. 

Sliding through sluts quickly became my sport.

Inevitably my wife walked in on the uncoordinated undertaking. It wasn't until she handed over those stiff papers that I heard the story of her midday arrival to our house. 

She was preganant and ambitious to tell me the headline for our next journal. But that was wildly terminated out of pure disgust for her scandal of a husband.

My being was devotedly dropped and demolished into a mere abortion.

Fault is mine as always, but will she ever admit her aspersions and her neglect...

or is her world solely about self-indulgence.