Dear Roger: Chapter Two?

This past week fucking sucked. There is really no other classy way to put it, I sat and just dreaded what I knew was coming like a paralyzed deer watching the approach of a semi-trucks headlights. I couldnt do anything to stop it, I was powerless, the second or third best, not worth the effort, the secret that shall always remain so, and I just sat here and mourned the slow immolation of what was left of my heart. I soothed some of the pain by acquiring a puppy.
I guess I am at that age. I haven't had close physical contact,(read:SEX) in so damn long that I find myself perusing Craigslist personal ads with half a thought towards insanity.
The kids had wanted a smaller dog they could actually play with without getting bowled over or flattened completely, and the choice came between a Pug or Boston terrier and since I have always wanted a Boston, that is what we ended up with. Benny is almost exactly like having an infant. Hes up most of the night raising hell, demanding of being fed immediately and he will jump in your face and go for whatever you are eating if you don't make with the food for him fast enough. Hes completely and totally adorable and probably thinks he cant walk due to all the time he spends in peoples arms, but hes just what I needed. I don't really have time to sit around and be bummed out in the morning when I have him in his crate yelling at me to let him out and feed him as well as hurry up and take him right out to potty, all the while trying to get Spencers needs met as he follows me through the house like a giant shadow, whining and tangling himself around my legs and getting in the way of my coffee, while Benny wiggles and tries his best to either launch himself at my throat in an attempt to help me drink my coffee, or knock it down the front of my shirt in the hopes it will speed me up. Its pure insanity in the mornings now, but im not complaining, I don't have much time to sit around and feel sorry for myself or miss what I will never have again,
Work is going good and its also helping to keep me busy as hell. I find it to be a blessing and a curse. I love that it gets me out of the house and forces me to interact with people on a daily basis, I hate that it forces me to interact with people that I would rather not know existed. It has provided some interesting opportunities to observe some examples of pure psychopathy in action, the effects of long term alcoholism, and various other forms of mental illness and cultures that I would not have observed in other ways. I figure that if nothing else, I have some material for my writing when my muse finally comes back.
I hope that is soon, I actually bought a real typewriter yesterday and it was delivered last night. Its a real beauty that I still cant believe I got so cheap! Its a 1920's Royal and its in museum quality condition, with no cracks rust or missing pieces at all and it functions perfectly! Its from a local shop and even has the original dust cover from the shop. It is gorgeous and I am thrilled to have it to work with, I saw a few exactly like it but not in NEAR as good as condition as mine going for nearly $700 on Ebay, so I guess for once in my life I got a hell of a deal.
Its all about distractions and keeping busy from now on, and just never looking back. Ive always been good at giving advice to people about this kind of thing, so now I have to try it on my own, and its the hardest damn thing I have ever done.