it must be nice to be able to afford to shop at whole foods. it must be nice to be able to eat fresh fruits and veggies on a regular basis. it must be nice to take long lunch so that you can pay a professional someone to cut and COLOR your hair into a jet-black faux-hawk. it must be nice to fuck us over month after month with no consequences. what's wrong is that i want to spit in your face and tell you that you're a loser but that i'm better than that.
your trunk was FULL of things that i want, that our children need. you've crippled me financially. i have $40 to make it through the rest of the month and i can't even get in touch with the food bank until monday. i can't concentrate or keep the kids at bay for long enough to grade for a few dollars an hour. don't tell parker she can spend the night at your house when i know goddamn well you don't have a bed for her, or room for her, or the ability to calm her during the night when she wants me. don't tell me our son needs a hair cut or that it's time to start potty-training him, like i'm somehow not living up to my responsibilites. don't ask me what's the matter, as if you give a crap. you don't. you are the last person on earth i feel like unloading on... fuck you.