I am done. Roasted marshmallow, crispy pig on spit, turkey timer popped D-O-N-E. This year. This god-damned year. By far the toughest personally, professionally all the mother-fucking way around. I'd say emotionally, but I am numb. Legit. I feel nothing. Case in point, my dog died. My first baby. I was sad. But not as sad as I should have been. Pretty sure I'm going to have a nervous break down come April when I somehow find my way out of this dark hole and realize he's gone. That is if I'm not having open heart surgery and recovering, blissfully unaware on a 30-day supply of Vicodin. Almost makes that possibility appealing. And yet I still give fucks. WHY, WHY OH WHY (insert illustration a la Mo Willems and the Pigeon series...parents, you feel me)? I want to kill everyone. Except the people I like. And that list has grown significantly shorter in 2018. Maybe it's me. The older I get, the less and less I like people. Clarification - ignorant, soul-sucking u...