Not Even the Bars Are Hiring:

   Life can be a shit-filled cupcake.  We live in a homogenized country. The music on the radio is pop heathens and pagans spitting slop only for money.  No longer to move people.  The economy is depressed and cutting itself.  Where is my job? Hmm? Not even the bars are hiring....I have no money to show for my hard work, I lose my insurance in two weeks, and I have a head cold the size of Africa. But health care has reformed and maybe it's the start of something crazy good.
   And even as stressed as I am, suppressing tears and rage and all, I find comfort in the mundane.  Because it's the only way I know how to validate my existence.  Night drives through town with my thoughts and dreams have become more comforting than Starbucks Grande Extra Hot Caramel Macchiatos.  I started journaling again.  Because there are always going to be parts of my life that cannot be blurted out across the wires.  I write lists. I job hunt. I dream. Lather. Rinse. Repeat.
   I think of babies making giggles that sound like diamond chandeliers, I think of Pottery Barn furniture and color swatches to paint walls in a house I can only dream of.  I dream of a day when dreaming is reality. And my science of sleep is not so confusing anymore, but tangible.  I have to dream because it's all I have to keep me grounded in the present.
   It's the sucrose and saccharin world in which I live that's slowly killing me.  Because it isn't sweet. Cavities and fissures and high stress lead me to live in my head. And this is me not complaining.
  I'm a romantic.  I'm a cynic.  I'm a walking contradiction.  But today, I am not mad or anxious. Today I am ready and willing to take on whatever this shit-filled cup cake is going to throw at my head.