How Many Jumps Should I Hoop Through?

And who stabbed me here? And shot me there? While I wasn't looking, for the trees meeting the forest, because you can't know what you can't see and versa vicea, and I will, with my prayful dog that I bought off tv, ask god to spare me more rejection, because who else is there left to ask? And it doesn't matter how pretty or perfect I am, I will wake up someday and realize that the only people who ever wanted to sleep with me were my children and that its too late for me, because I'm old, now, and I made these choices, and I knew, even back in my twenties, that it was a foregone conclusion, so why even bother? Plus, all of those smart/sad people always say we are always alone and I am just so always afraid I'm always unloveable, in the end, that it will turn out that way, the way it always does in my dreams. But he says its nothing personal. And if I said, "Its not you, I just like how his cock gets hard," would you be okay with that? I just need to turn to his favorite porn star and get some advice, on how to become a shell of myself, and not fucking feel for awhile, but drugs aren't tenable (which is likely her answer) because I have children for whom to care and because I must have a job, for which piss tests I must pass. Not that they would care, really, the lousy cheats, so long as I lose my $3m a day in the most efficient way possible. So, I will affect a casual smile and a flutter of my hand and invite my brother over to dinner: Now Serving: Fatalism, over easy. Suck it, Religiouses, because I am jumped from the hook and this is only, has ever been and will always be, for your pleasure, at your leisure. And I offer you my most resolute assurances: my mother is mortified. But soon I will fly off the map and you will have to cheat gravity to chase me. He writes me, but only one (punch) liners, but I am his spatial girl, taking a menthol hit. Don't worry, girls. He will fight me off with the fists of time.