Chronicle 233 ~A Bad Day Again~

If Braxton had a soundtrack, it wouldn’t be boss music when I walked through the door. Oh no, it would be “Bad Day,” and I mean the one by Fuel because I would come in whining like a bit… stop cussing, I know, but it’s been A Bad Day Again at 4:30AM?

Saturday, February 19, 2022

Chronicle 233 ~A Bad Day Again~

Hey Lady Lu,
I AM a Billionaire right now, which means there should be no such thing as a bad day. So it’s 4:30 AM.

Disgusted. Okay, so it’s only me? I hope so, Lunalesca, because sometimes I forget “how lovely you are.” And that’s the damn problem. Me and this fucking wayward dick Lu. Yes, I know I need to stop cussing and, at this rate, stay “home.” You know that’s another word I don’t like, but that’s another story. Right now, the tale should be of me staying. I’m sick, and I know exactly why I’m sick. Hell, it was around last month, and if I need to blame someone besides me. Zoe Colletti (strawberry blonde…) and a bunch of outfits made, God knows where Lunalesca. When I get my cash, what will I spend it on? I don’t want to say “another” day… A Bad Day Again.

Angry and upset with me, that is when I leave. It’s Saturday, so you know what that means, my Lady. You are a Lady, but in my effort to find a friend… bitches, Karens (Rebeccas). The more things change, as THEY say. Or, as the song goes, “I’ve seen lonely times when I could not find a friend.” And I shouldn’t be looking out of anger. Where’d that get B? Lunalesca, I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again. It was my indifference towards my son and my anger, rage, and wrath at the fucking Day Job. I am hearing Will Smith, I know. Stop cussing, but what else am I supposed to say. I want to rant Lunalesca about A Bad Day Again.

Grief, don’t you see, is always the better alternative. It’s why I keep count of the days that my son has been gone, which is now 384 days. Why aren’t my eyes underwater yet? Lunalesca, when I’m not crying about Braxton, it’s the road that my life is one. Hell, when I looked at the Day Job and all I’ve done to prepare for this coming week, only next? Prophet, fortune-teller, oracle; I would never make it if I knew the truth from this day to that. I cry to keep from seeing it, but I will always know no matter what. As I will always love my boy. Or that I can’t keep my dick in my pants; Because it’s A Bad Day Again.

384 Days Without B III

BLM Braxton’s Life Matters,
Will

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