That's really all I've got to say on the subject. I thought 2009 was tough; this last year practically killed me. I'm just about at the end of my rope. I am nearly ropeless. I am tired of being poor, of looking over my shoulder every damn day to see if I can pay the bills, feed the family, buy my kids a fucking ice cream cone. I used to make a hundred and thirty-five fucking thousand dollars a year! How did this happen? Oh, yeah, I thought I'd retire early to write, trusting in the spousal unit to bring home some money. And she chose to go into real estate. In December 2007. It seems funny in an oddly self-immolizing sort of way. Maybe I'll laugh at it some day.
Plus there was that whole "Nice Agent Lady" fiasco.
So, 2010, go fuck yourself. Far ti fotere. Va te faire foutre. Chinga tu madre. Yebat' tvoyoo mat'.