Waiting to die
Sitting here, alone as always, it gives me time to ruminate on my life; or lack thereof. I'm not happy, can't really even say I'm content; I'm simply waiting to die. Every day is a repeat of the day before: the alarm goes off, I ignore it for a while, finally get up and dressed for work, feed dogs, walk dogs, make lunch, leave for work, exist at office for approximately 10 hours, leave to come home, walk dogs, feed dogs, make and eat dinner, walk dogs, get ready for bed, and start the cycle again. I've come to accept that I'll never live the life I dreamed about as a kid, and each day I begin to hope a little more that it will be my last. I don't want this life anymore and I'm tired of fighting to exist to the point that I don't want any life anymore. I'm tired of waiting. I'm ready.

















