I don’t know what I’m doing.

What the fuck am I doing?

I guess I need something to vent to, since my sister came home, and I figure screaming into the void that is the internet is better than wringing my sister’s stupid neck. Or my mom’s. I can do both, can’t I?

In the interest of yet another coping method, I guess I should give a quick rundown of why. Why I’m doing this. Why I’m back to living with my mom in my mid-thirties. Why my sister is in the same boat.

So many whys.

My life comes down to this. I’m a soon-to-be single mom of an adorable nine-year-old boy because my asshole of a husband decided to move in some tarted up homewrecker and kicked us out. I’m thankful my mom took us in, I really am, but we are very different people and she drives me crazy. Thank the great good Earth I’ve learned how to control my temper over the years. That was six months ago. If it was just me, Jack and mom, I could deal.

Angie has a knack for getting on my last nerve. The drama she loves to immerse herself in grates against my calm psyche. Come to find out, she’s got her own divorce to go through. Joy. This’ll be a disaster. Three witches and a boy. I hope Angie keeps that Ouija board hidden in her tool chest.

I’m going to pull out the damned honey and sugar. Maybe I can keep Angie’s messy aura contained. How is this my life?

Blessed Be.


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