Fuming...
It's Sunday evening. I'm not supposed to be so frustrated on a Sunday evening. I just got back from dinner at my cousin's house in Mt. Vernon. (Which is technically Westchester County, but it's on the edge, so it's really close to the Bronx.) Anyway, I dropped my friend Jeff off on the Upper West. Then I dropped Dante off in the West Village. All was fine and dandy, except for the fact that I could not get myself to Brooklyn. And I kept getting all turned around. And I was doing my best to navigate through Lower Manhattan. Thankfully, I received a phonecall just in time, so I had some help. But it was still frustrating. And yes, I did start to cry.

So I get to Brooklyn, and, of course, I can't find a parking spot. (OF course!) I drive around for about 20 minutes, and finally decide to throw my car into a lot. I just couldn't take it anymore. And I've decided that I'm gonna try to get a parking spot. I'll make it work financially. I just can't deal right now. I'm gonna call tomorrow and see how much it's gonna cost me per month. But this was just TOO frustrating. TOO frustrating.

And now, I'm home and doing my best to calm down before I hit the sack. Tomorrow IS Monday after all, and work is gonna frustrate me enough. (God, the thought of dealing with the crazy tomorrow and all week gives me a stomach ache).

I'm home... alone. I hate being home alone. I am not Greta Garbo... "I don't vant to be alone!" I hate it. Hate it. Hate it! I know that I've been saying that a lot, but I do. It's not fun. I don't want to be by myself. It makes me sad. I don't know if I'm ever gonna be ok with this. Let's just hope that, as I truly believe, the end is within reach.