I am Sick of Him

I sit on the floor in the restroom at the oncology center and cry silently. I feel my life slipping away. I write this in my journal:


I am sick of him.

I am sick of the New York Yankees.

I am sick of his music.

I am sick of the apples he likes.

I am sick of his schedule.

I am sick of the movies he wants to see.

I am sick of him being sick.

I am sick of him.