It is at times like this that I wonder what the point of it all is. I feel empty, robbed of any joy. This day, as they all do, had potential to be great. But with every minor inconvenience, every thorn in my side, every snippet of distressing news, I become less and less hopeful that it can be salvaged.
My faith that there is any non-psychotic deity to whom I could dedicate all my pain and tears in one last pleading prayer has been shattered. I do not know how much more I can take.
The ice-cream machine is broken again.
