Oh gosh.

It’s weird how things creep up on you. It’s weird the things you can’t get over. People are strange. I’m strange.

You know, I interact with a child molester on a day-to-day basis. He raped his little sister. Twice. She wasn’t the only victim, just the most tragic, at least in my mind. My job is to be therapeutic with him; to encourage and uplift him. I instead make it my job to watch him. To basically ride his ass at the slightest screw up. I can’t stand him. I won’t pretend to. He tells his doctor that he’s ready to go home; he tells her he can control his impulses now. His doctor is realistic - she tells him he can never be around his sister. He says his sister should go live with another family member so he can go home to his parents house. He’s an egocentric asshole, to say the least. And 17. I’ll be the first to celebrate his 18th birthday. Eighteen and out of CPS. Eighteen and into the criminal justice system if he dares to even spit in public.

I’m so frickin angry sometimes that I can’t stand it. I’m so frickin sad sometimes that I can’t get a hold of myself.

I should at least be angry for a reason, right? I should at least feel despair for a truly tragic cause, right?

Blah.