Always the bastard

There is just something about me that life and nature hate. I have yet to identify what it is.

Last night, I was talking to Laurie (noooooo, you were talking to your WIFE?!!!) about what will happen to me when I die. Just in case I die before she does, you know? To me, it’s important to talk about this. My parents didn’t, and Daddy died at 43. Anyway, I told her I don’t think I want to be buried. I used to insist on it.

When asked why not, I responded that I don’t think I deserve to linger on after I’m gone. A tombstone would keep me here, in some way. Laurie told me I was saying I thought I was better than everyone who had a tombstone.

Did she miss the point? I was saying I’m NOT as good as they are!!!!!

I hate this. I feel like my wife hates me. She went through her fucking narcotics again. We were supposed to be trying a new system, but, obviously, it didn’t work. I’m so fucking worn out and tired of the bullshit. I’m more tired than I’ve ever been, and nobody gives a shit. That’s not exactly helpful for someone who feels like everyone hates him.

Laurie makes everything about HER. Always. And because I don’t ALWAYS make it all about her, I’m always the bastard.

I hope I die soon.