Since you wish the heart attack had killed you, and since you insist I keep all work related trauma to -myself- and because you won't help me to do what it takes to ensure a good future for myself and our daughter
By the time I get off work, I'm so tired, I don't write anything down. I'm usually half asleep in the passenger seat of the car, shoveling food in my face
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Very soon, I'm going to make this diary entirely about my new job as an exotic dancer. Every night that I work, there are several absolutely ridiculous things that occur. I think I'm going to eventually publish the diary as "Violet: The Diary of a Dancer". It has a nice ring to it.