I don't know what to think about this shit-fest which is both a religious holiday and a druid celebration of seasons.
Spending money. Outsourcing time. Forcible "bonding" time.
I love my family. I just can't make a plan to do something at a second location.
(...Said clinical depression.)
Sunday, December 23, 2018
Monday, December 17, 2018
Fuck. Me.
"No."
This is the first word which enters my brain when my alarm goes off at 6:20am on a work day.
"FUCK. ME."
These are the first words out of my mouth at 6:35am, when my second alarm goes off.
On the off chance that I blow through the second alarm, and my third alarm goes off, I'm already fucked, time-wise.
So, basically, every single day that I work, I wake up like a locked-in-sydrome patient who wants to stay locked in.
(Side-bar. I started writing this blog yesterday, and then got bored with myself. So anyway, I woke up this morning at 7:25, only because my child came in to see why I was still home. I have to be at work at 7:30. Somehow, some way, I turned off all three alarms in my sleep. I got to work, at 7:59, which means I was almost tardy to my own study hall. And yes, I texted the principal to tell him I was late. But the first several words out of my mouth when I woke up were "fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, FUCK!")
I love my job; I just really hate waking up in the morning and having to go to a second location.
P.S. I can't help but swear like a sailor; it helps my brain understand "feeling words".
This is the first word which enters my brain when my alarm goes off at 6:20am on a work day.
"FUCK. ME."
These are the first words out of my mouth at 6:35am, when my second alarm goes off.
On the off chance that I blow through the second alarm, and my third alarm goes off, I'm already fucked, time-wise.
So, basically, every single day that I work, I wake up like a locked-in-sydrome patient who wants to stay locked in.
(Side-bar. I started writing this blog yesterday, and then got bored with myself. So anyway, I woke up this morning at 7:25, only because my child came in to see why I was still home. I have to be at work at 7:30. Somehow, some way, I turned off all three alarms in my sleep. I got to work, at 7:59, which means I was almost tardy to my own study hall. And yes, I texted the principal to tell him I was late. But the first several words out of my mouth when I woke up were "fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, FUCK!")
I love my job; I just really hate waking up in the morning and having to go to a second location.
P.S. I can't help but swear like a sailor; it helps my brain understand "feeling words".
Tuesday, December 11, 2018
It's My Fault
As it turns out, everything is my fault.
Examples:
The cat (which is NOT my cat) won't come inside, at 10 o'clock; it's 13 degrees outside.
Who's outside looking for the cat, so he won't freeze to death? (Not the person who owns him.)
I'm also (and have always been) the "solution" to everything which is wrong with my house:
If the heater doesn't turn on, it's my fault. I should fix it. I should find a WAY to fix it. I should, ultimately, PAY, to fix it.
If my new laptop cover doesn't fit, and I ask one of my roommates to help me, I bought the wrong one. Not, "oh, let's maybe take 30 fucking seconds to look at it and see if you can help me", just "you did it wrong".
You don't have lunch at school? My fault. Even though there's like $50 in credit in the cafeteria, if I didn't bring a good lunch for you to sit on your ass in a lawn chair in my classroom ... I'm the one who didn't forwardly think.
P.S. If I bring my own lunch and not one for her, I'm (passive-aggressively) the bad guy.
Christmas is going to be sparse this year? Maybe because I'm the only person who pays rent.
And no one turns any lights off, ever.
And the back door is STILL open, just in case the cat decides to return, so I'm paying to heat the outside.
Maybe, just maybe, people could think about other people sometimes, rather than wallow in their own shit and then puke out apathy. That would be super-awesome.
Examples:
The cat (which is NOT my cat) won't come inside, at 10 o'clock; it's 13 degrees outside.
Who's outside looking for the cat, so he won't freeze to death? (Not the person who owns him.)
I'm also (and have always been) the "solution" to everything which is wrong with my house:
If the heater doesn't turn on, it's my fault. I should fix it. I should find a WAY to fix it. I should, ultimately, PAY, to fix it.
If my new laptop cover doesn't fit, and I ask one of my roommates to help me, I bought the wrong one. Not, "oh, let's maybe take 30 fucking seconds to look at it and see if you can help me", just "you did it wrong".
You don't have lunch at school? My fault. Even though there's like $50 in credit in the cafeteria, if I didn't bring a good lunch for you to sit on your ass in a lawn chair in my classroom ... I'm the one who didn't forwardly think.
P.S. If I bring my own lunch and not one for her, I'm (passive-aggressively) the bad guy.
Christmas is going to be sparse this year? Maybe because I'm the only person who pays rent.
And no one turns any lights off, ever.
And the back door is STILL open, just in case the cat decides to return, so I'm paying to heat the outside.
Maybe, just maybe, people could think about other people sometimes, rather than wallow in their own shit and then puke out apathy. That would be super-awesome.
Sunday, December 2, 2018
Seasonal Affective Dickery
S.A.D. Literally an acronym which some brilliantly capitalistic therapist came up with, sold to real doctors, and then threw drugs at. People get depressed during cold months, because the sun is absent. The wind is a soul-sucking phantom. The bone-chilling cold is like being punched in the face. Snow is beautiful, but shoveling it is like prison-camp labor.
My point: I have no actual idea. (This is most certainly why I can't make a living off of writing.)
Fuck winter.
My point: I have no actual idea. (This is most certainly why I can't make a living off of writing.)
Fuck winter.
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)