Signs, Signs, everywhere are Signs.

     Fuckin' of the scenery, blowin' my mind.   This pretty much describes me.  I'm sick of being the problem, when I'm the only one looking for a solution.  So today I said fuck it and I went downstairs to organize my shit and clean up my room.  I went to get a sweater from my free standing closet.  I have a free standing closet because my boyfriends little girl has the biggest closet in the house, and my boyfriend has the next biggest closet, and I have no closet at all.  Until a few weeks ago I had no dresser either, for 4 years my clothes have laid in heaps on the floor.
      I had bought this piece of shit free standing closet so I at least felt like I had a place of my own ( 50 ways to say goodbye by train just came on Pandora, it only solidifies what I am saying.)  So I reach for my sweater and the whole fucking closet collapses, I tell the kids to go get their dad thinking he can somehow help me prevent this impending disaster.  He says there is nothing we can do the damn thing is broken and there is no where to put your clothes so you'll just have to pile them on the bed for now.  Then the entire closet collapses and he says to me, did you put that dresser up against the rack.  No I say, I was trying to make room.  Well there is the problem, that chest was holding up the clothes rack and now you've completely broke it.   
      So there is the fucking sign, the one thing I needed in this goddamn house to make me feel like I had my own space, collapsed on the floor, and all he can do is point his fucking finger and blame me.  Well fuck him and fuck this house.