I’m so depressed I just finished off a whole tub of Rich & Creamy Chocolate frosting, while listening to a steady pouring rain  Why am I depressed, you might ask? What’s that? Oh, you don’t care?  Hmm, well, I’m gonna tell you why anyway  It’s mostly just life in general, but it doesn’t help when my boyfriend neglects to call me in close to two weeks.  I even bought him a phone card so he could call me more often, and I could help pay for the long distance calls (we’ve been in a forced long-distance relationship for the past 4 years). Didn’t help. He seems to have lost all interest in me …  maybe I need to wake up and smell the dead roses.  Perhaps he’s trying to get me to break up with him so he doesn’t have to be the bad guy. I just wish he loved me enough to want to spend some time with me. Wishful thinking, huh? Does any guy love a woman that much?

“Here’s to the liars and the cheaters and the cold mistreaters …” Sometimes a country song just fits the mood …  

I’m writing in this journal in an effort not to call him and leave a hateful message in his voice mail. Those never help anyway, even when I stay calm and try to let him know how much he’s hurting me by his actions. Nothing ever changes. Probably never will. So maybe it’s time to say farewell to yet another unfeeling guy. Good decision? Yes? No? Maybe?

Anyway, I started thinking about Mrs. Giggles last night—you know the lady who writes those mean and hurtful book reviews? I had sent her an email a few years back and asked her what had crawled up in her p**** and died. Low and Behold, she published it for the entire world to see. Not one of the high points in my life, but it was before I’d learned how to control my reactions to people like that. But I still can’t help wondering if she truly gains pleasure from hurting others. Of course, I doubt anyone takes her very seriously these days, and there are authors who are crazy enough to ask her to review their novels—bad publicity versus no publicity and all that. In the end, Mrs. Giggles is nothing more than a lonely lady surrounded by stacks of books she doesn’t seem to like, and at the end of her life’s journey she’ll only be remembered as the lady who spent her time making others feel bad.