I am aggravated. I’m aggravated that my car is still fucking broken from a plow guy, I’m aggravated that my fiance thinks its okay to be passed out drunk at noon on a Tuesday. I’m aggravated that I can’t talk to my fiance about how aggravated I am because he’s passed out drunk at noon on a Tuesday. I’m aggravated that he thinks it’s okay to walk to the store in the snow to buy a 30 pack of beer, but that he’s too tired to come pick up our car at the mechanic and go pick up his prescriptions. I’m done with cars, plow guys and people in general. You know what I’m not done with? Coffee. Since I was 12, coffee has never let me down. It’s always been there; warm, comforting and will always listen to my insane rants. I’m tired of hearing “I’m sorry”. “Oh, I’m sorry i totaled your favorite car and almost killed your fiance” “oh, I’m sorry, but we wont be paying on this claim” “oh, I’m sorry that i hit your car with my plow truck and popped the bumper off and took the marker light with it” “oh, I’m sorry that when we fixed your car, we didn’t actually fix it and the marker light comes flying off as you’re driving over a bridge to go get your fiances anti depressant”. I’m sick of it, sick of all of it. I’m moving into a cave and not telling anyone where I am.
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