I don't want to be here.
I don't want to have a nice night with you.
I want to go to bed and cook in a two-foot-deep layer of blankets.
I want to brew a cup of black coffee, sit outside in my layer of blankets, smoke.
Fuck optimism, I don't have the energy for it today.
My goal is not to be happy and have a nice night.
You blew it on your computer.
You continued to blow it on your computer no matter how loudly Jack screamed.
You didn't even notice that I wasn't hearing him scream until I finally woke up, because this is how bad I feel, how tired, how freezing cold.
You put him to bed two hours before his bedtime. Who the fuck is getting up at 5 AM? Me.
You say "no one will ever love you." It's a response for you. It's just something you say when you are pissed off that I am being difficult, or sensible, or both. You say it like it's one word.