I was sitting in my hotel room after getting kicked out by my husband, with a 357 magnum loaded and cocked, and I sat there waiting to stop cryhing and shaking so I could aim the damn thing at my head. I got real calm and it hit me, that in spite of everything deep down inside I still had hope. Hope is a dangerous thing, hope can drive a man insane, they said in the Shawshank redemption. Hope causes me so much pain, it makes me oive when I don't want to. It causes me pain like hunger and thirst, and these pains must be satisfied in order to stay alive. I don't know why I hope, since there is so little that is good in my life, and my marriage falling apart is just the tip of the iceburg. But hope is still what keeps me alive, the hope that things can get better. Even if it takes a huge, stupid chance, like taking out a loan to start my own business, I have to do it, because I can't die until there's no hope. I opened the hotel bible, I forget what they call it when you open it by chance and read the passage, but I got "He who dies from so-and-so will be eaten by dogs". ANd I'm not religious, and I love dogs BTW, and this didn't mean much to me but maybe it would mean something to one of you. ANyway, I just wanted to share this and I'm going back to my hotel to get drunk or something, I know I won't kil myself now or until I'm living under a bridge or something, proabably not even then. Hope is my enemy and my best friend.
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