Okay, I'll join in.. Sing along, if you know the tune.

To being in so much constant pain for the last 4-5 months now that I can't sleep, can barely eat (nausea), and can't even sit for more than 10 minutes or so without needing to change position, even though that just makes it more painful in different places. Plays hell with posting auctions, wipes out a sex drive (I haven't wanted to even be touched in months), and leaves me with no damned stamina at all.

To the Social Security Administration, for telling me that I'm not actually in "severe pain", only "mild" pain, and that therefore, they were denying me any access to my own damned money AGAIN, forcing me to hunt up a lawyer I really can't afford without signing away a third of anything I might *eventually* wring out of them. Tight-fisted bastards that seem to think I can still work, even though the only thing I know how to do is retail, and NO ONE lets you do that off your feet, which I can barely stand on at all, much less for eight hours, without a cane.

To my mother, for making me worry about her by NEVER CHARGING HER CELL PHONE OR CORDLESS PHONES, leaving me to wonder for sometimes weeks at a time whether she's laying in the house alone with a broken hip, or what. I'm fairly sure the cops in her small town are getting sick of me pestering them for welfare visits to her.

To my husband, for working late EVERY GODDAMNED NIGHT for the last month. YES, I know your boss needs you to get that whole damned building wired, networked, and configured before you move into it, but dammit, at least he could have you work on it during the work day, and not after hours! What truly sucks is that, though your timecard shows 60-70 hours a week, you still only get paid for 40. Tell Matt he fucking owes me one, big time.

To my sons' instructors, for sending home excessive, expensive lists of demands for everything from a $15 512mg thumbdrive and $45 scientific calculator for my third grader to $140 worth of various art supplies for my college son's ONE art class. Not to mention the $380 in textbooks for 12 credit hours i had to spend. Side note: Bless you, Ben at Hobby Lobby, for taking the time to not only explain what the HELL a tortillion was, but also being willing to carry all that mat board and sketch paper, etc, to the front and then to my truck. You are a saint. Kid better turn into a fucking Picasso to make it all worthwhile, though.

To the truck, for being only a year from paid off, and blowing its FOURTH coil today. Everytime it does that, I end up dropping about $600 that I just don't have to get it fixed. I only put about 15000 miles a year on the bastard, so they can't figure out why it keeps happening. And no, it's not under warranty anymore.
Lastly,

to me, and this post I've been typing, and for feeling like I just wanna go play Oopsie with a fucking pistol for the last few months. The logical part of me knows that the depression will lift, eventually, but the emotional part of me is curled up on the floor of a dark closet, terrified and crying. I hate this.