The 3-Legged Dog
I hate my life. I'm overcrowded with mementoes, debris and unnecessary things. There's more souvenirs than floor space, and I'm unorganized and messy. There has to be a change. Seriously. Fucking chaos & misery are covering my heart in blackness.
This weekend I went walking, and saw a three-legged dog running like mad down the center of the street. The dog had been crippled, and held an injured leg high to one side, running on its forelegs and the strong backlog that was uninjured. Behind it was a truck from the city's ACS (Animal Care Services) chasing directly behind it.
I don't know if that dog will be treated, adopted out or killed, but I do know that few people move quickly for a lame animal. I didn't have enough cash or room for it and all I can do is pray it gets better or gets a home.
Some days I need the same thing. Adoption, repair or death.
There's so much to do and so damned many fears trenching themselves in my mind.
Paranoia is killing me.
Fear is my enemy.
I hate myself and my life.
I have to change and live, respectably.
Is that possible? Honestly?
Or am I damned?
One day ...
Bye.
~j~
