I was in love. He died. I found out he left me a message that he loved me, but I didn’t get it. Now I’m sick to death of everything. This apartment, this laundry, the fact that things get dirty. The law. Just standing here. Sometimes I swear I just want to go into my bedroom, pull the covers over my head, and never do anything ever again. I’m drinking like I never have before. And all I want to do is have another one. And then everything just gets swallowed up by more disgust.