Cause I am barely breathing, and I can't find the air.

My sense of humor has always been my defense and/or coping mechanism. I would much rather act like a jackass and laugh than deal with what's really bothering me, and let people think everything is ok.

Completely unhealthy, I know.

My problem is, and has always been, that I never want to let people know when I am this upset. I would just assume everything stay cheery and normal and then I don't have to tell people how I feel, and no one worries about me losing it or feeling sorry for me. I hate having people feel sorry for me.

Recently, things have spiraled in a shitty direction, and I am barely breathing (to quote the Duncan Sheik song). I have so much shit going on right now that I just don't know what to do with myself sometimes.

I got myself into a situation with somebody that I thought was something that it wasn't, and now I feel foolish. And a little bit hurt. That's all I want to say about it right now.

The owner of my company's son (the junkie criminal one) tried to steal money from the company, and when he got caught, told me that he knew it was me that got him into trouble. I denied it like crazy (but it was me), and he looked me right in the eyes and told me that he'd make sure "whoever did it was going to be sorry."

My friend is days away from dying. I only get to see him a few minutes a day. I hate this. In the last two weeks, every single memory of this man has played in my mind over and over, reminding me that soon he will only exist in my memories. It's fucking hard to deal with, and I hate it.

My frustration with this was punctuated by an ignorant comment someone made.

"No one dies of AIDS anymore. At least not in this country. That's just a myth."

I really had to restrain myself from hurting someone for saying that. What's worse, is that it was one of my fucking friends that said it. I hate all of the ignorance that still surrounds this disease. I hate that people refuse to educate themselves, and realize that people ARE dying, and that a lot of times, they're made to feel like some sort of freak for having this disease. It's wrong and it disgusts me.

Kay and I have been bickering like crazy. This happens every once in a while, usually when we spend too time together. We get tired of each other, and start nit-picking everything. Sunday, at dinner, it came to a head when she asked me to proof a marketing letter for her, and I told her it contained a lot of errors. She took it personally, and blew up about how I am so anal about grammar and spelling (uh, isn't that why you asked me to do it?). Whatever. It was stupid.

I am pretty sure my sister's asshat boyfriend has driven her to an eating disorder. I will kill him if she harms herself and stops eating. I hate him. I wish she would get some fucking self-esteem and realize how gorgeous she is, and that she can do SO much better than him. But she's 20. I can't tell her anything, unfortunately.

I hate feeling like this.

Luckily, I am better today than I was yesterday, and hopefully, tomorrow I will be better than I am today.

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I watched Entourage tonight, and it seems that Jeremy Piven is the only man on Earth who is growing MORE hair the older he gets. He has more hair now than he had in Old School, where he had more hair than he had in PCU.

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Ok, so my sweet little kitty might not be pregnant after all, because she is in heat like nobody's business. I haven't had a full night's sleep in the last five days because that bitch is whining all night long, which wouldn't be so bad, if there weren't like, ten neighborhood cats outside my bedroom window howling for her all night.

The fun just never stops.

On a lighter note (and thank god for funny people in times like these), I just want to say Bill totally wants me.

Read my comments. It's love for our little Billy Boy.

And, really... how could he not love me?

I'm pretty damned charming.