The part of my life where I say "Whatever"

To me life is a big fucking joke. I no longer will shed a tear or huff and puff in frustration. I will only laugh the biggest belly laugh of belly laughs. I pondered upon moving away because of all of my skeletons and all of my heartache....Fuck that. I am going to make everyone who has made me miserable pay for what they have done to me. I am no longer afraid. I am no longer letting shit go. I am fighting for what I deserve and that is my own life. I will live whatever, however, with whoever I want to. I am 27 years old and will not explain myself to one single soul. For a very long time I have felt trapped, secluded, tied down and battered. I refuse to feel like this anymore. I always felt frustrated and held back. I never felt as if I would ever amount to anything. I would always be this small town girl, black sheep from a well to do family, who chose to walk down the wrong path just to spite her family. That is the worst feeling ever. That is also false. I am sick and tired of being labeled just because I choose to associate myself with such a diverse crowd. I hang out with bikers, preps, freaks, tattooed people, pierced people, skin heads, abercrombie types. . .I love all people. What? I have to pick one and stay with it? What is up with that? I frequently associate with "bikers". Ya know the dirty, scumbags, who are poor and live on their motorcycles . . yeah those guys who everyone stereotypes. Believe me you, that is the largest falacy ever heard. My "scumbag bikers" have their own companies, are hard workers, are respectful and family oriented and could buy and sell every one of us. Ahhhhhhhhhhh
I can't even talk about it anymore.
I am not really sure where I was going with this blog anymore. I have been interrupted a million times already so I will save this for another time.
Ahh Life is Good
This weekend should be a trip . . . I am horrified to even know what's going to happen with Farmer dying and all. It seems as if the world is falling apart.
I am saddedned and distressed and I miss him terribly already.
He has been dead for one week and yet it feels as though I was sitting next to his bed only a few hours, talking to him and reminiscing. . . . .saying goodbye.
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