Life is $hit.

I mind my own business, don't bother other people. Other than an occasional beer, a pack of smokes a day, and a rare shot of Jim Beam, I don't even self-medicate anymore. But what is the point of being a good guy in a world where $hit like this happens?

Gypsy has disappeared. I know something bad has happened to her, because until yesterday, she hadn't spent more than ten minutes at a time away from her babies.

They will in all likelihood die, because I cannot get them to drink any milk from the eye dropper I rushed out and bought yesterday. I called the vet to see if they knew of anyone who had a cat that had a small litter or had lost her kittens. No such luck.

I brought the babies inside and put them in a box. Where they will probably die. If they do, I refuse to ever love anything again. In fact, I will attempt to purge ALL emotion from my life. Emotions hurt too much. Love is a cruel joke, and I refuse to be the butt of it ever again.

I feel a bender coming on.