Oh well. Oh wellohwelloh. Oh.

I�ve had 10,000 blows it seems. I�ve had a blow, Jane. Oh irredeemable Mr. Rochester. What will become of us?

I can�t think of one good thing. One reason to carry on like this. Except Basho and hope and even hope is waning. I simply can�t manage. I keep thinking to myself, just ride it out girl, it will get better, everyone says it will get better. It�s not getting better. It�s not working out. The storm rages.

I�m giving rather serious thought to moving in with my parents. This thought pops up each time I get into a panic, true. But I think that if I don�t get teaching (and I�m going to write to the bloody English department today, for fucking hell, and insist on some kind of hint about my teaching future) I think I�m really going to do it this time. Just for one year. One year of easing my money troubles, of free food and no rent and free laundry. I can do anything for one year. I will have no friends save my folks because my parents live in the middle of nowhere and the anywheres nearby are filled with the awfulest people you can imagine. I will feel trapped and unhappy and hemmed in and like a jerk because I will not treat my family the way I should and I will feel like a failure. But I feel all that now. But my life will be passing me by. But I will be almost 30 and I will be living with my parents. But who cares? But what else is there to do?

Oh well.

I am stupendously unhappy. I can�t convince myself otherwise anymore. I am stupendously alone. Still. Again. Forever it seems. I have written this same journal entry a thousand million times. Nothing changes except for the worse. My life is simply not good enough for me to want to fight it out anymore. I don�t mean it. I mean it. God.

What is good about this: I get up slowly and wearily in the morning. I let the dog out. I bathe and get dressed. I let the dog back in. I drive to work. I sit here all day except for when I drive home for lunch. I let the dog out. I eat a sandwich. I listen to NPR. I let the dog back in. I drive back to work. Sit here. Drive home. I let the dog out. I waste time until 6:30. I stare out the window until 6:30. I put the leash on the dog. We drive to the lake. We walk we swim we are done with the lake. I drive home. I check my email. I watch whatever on TV. I drink beer. Maybe I make food. Maybe I�m too sad to make food. Maybe I let the dishes pile up. Maybe I do nothing but stare until I can justify going to bed. I let the dog back in. I read. I sleep. It�s tomorrow. Wash lather rinse repeat.

The weekends are worse.

Oh well. Well. Oh.