I am so frustrated with my life I can't even conceive the words to describe one hundredth of what I feel. I don't have any of the things I need to succeed as a person. I was suffocating in this room, in this remote corner of the house when I started my blog five years ago and I'm still sitting here in the same room in the same remote corner of the house today.
I need a place to call my own. Somewhere I can be at peace and do the things I need to do. Instead, I'm stuck living in the house of people who are practically strangers to me. I can't sit down at my desk without constantly being badgered or worrying someone is going to walk in and criticize whatever I happen to be doing. But I have no money to get out.
I need a decent, predictable paycheck every week. Something I can rely on and budget around. Instead, I get between fifteen and forty hours. The boss doesn't think I'm excited enough about my job to promote me to full time, and it's next to impossible to get excited about a job when you hate your boss. But if I get a second job, the assistant boss is going to cut my hours further.
I need a way to spend time with the people I want to have in my life. I can't spend any quality time with Jason because these people are always around and never leave their house. I don't have any friends in my city who I haven't repeatedly alienated. The friends I do have live mostly out past my work, which would be fine if I didn't already spend $250 a month on fuel.
Sunday, May 29, 2011
I Think There's A Problem Here
I really need to get out of this house. When there's a woman trolling outside my bedroom when Jason and I are trying to have some alone time, there's a fucking problem. All I want to do are some of the things normal couples do in the privacy of my own bedroom. There's nothing unusual or interesting going on in here, honestly.
When there's a woman who can't walk ten feet to get something from the refrigerator interrupting me every five minutes, there's a fucking problem. All I hear all day is what other people need. I don't care anymore. There are things I need as well, but I don't demand people help me while I sit on my ass. I need to do these scholarship essays and finish my library book. And I need some uninterrupted time in which to do it.
When there's a woman purposefully insinuating things about me every time we interact, there's a fucking problem. If I go out with my boyfriend, it doesn't mean we go to the local gay bar and have an orgy. When people laugh at a stupid joke you make, it doesn't mean they're on to my horrible secret. I'm not going to marry any of the women I spent time with. And If I'm reading a book about how sickness influenced the evolution of our species, it doesn't mean I plan on getting AIDS. Thanks for making that connection, though.
Yes. There's a fucking problem here.
When there's a woman who can't walk ten feet to get something from the refrigerator interrupting me every five minutes, there's a fucking problem. All I hear all day is what other people need. I don't care anymore. There are things I need as well, but I don't demand people help me while I sit on my ass. I need to do these scholarship essays and finish my library book. And I need some uninterrupted time in which to do it.
When there's a woman purposefully insinuating things about me every time we interact, there's a fucking problem. If I go out with my boyfriend, it doesn't mean we go to the local gay bar and have an orgy. When people laugh at a stupid joke you make, it doesn't mean they're on to my horrible secret. I'm not going to marry any of the women I spent time with. And If I'm reading a book about how sickness influenced the evolution of our species, it doesn't mean I plan on getting AIDS. Thanks for making that connection, though.
Yes. There's a fucking problem here.
Saturday, May 21, 2011
Procrastination
In a highly successful attempt at procrastination, I spent a lot of time outside today.
Our shed (a.k.a. our local dump) was in desperate need of cleaning. It started out fairly uneventfully; I discovered that the number of both rakes and shovels exceeds the number of people in the house, and that we have an unusually large number of hand rakes and shovels. As I was condensing my mom's junk into boxes and moving them to the back of the shed I discovered the Mushroom Kingdom, complete with a grumpy cactus and a guy running around in red suspenders. True to it's 2D form, the Kingdom was entirely contained in the space between a row of boxes and the shed wall.
When I was finished, I proceeded to mow the front lawn. To my dismay I found that a colony of ants had taken up residence between the motor cover and the engine. Perhaps it was to their dismay, because the mower started right away and I mowed the lawn. Since it's been raining for the last few days the grass was longer than usual and left a lot of clippings. I decided to rake them up and toss them on the compost pile I made last year. Sometime between late last year and early this year all the crap I had been throwing in there decomposed and I had a nice big pile of compost. Which is nice because I was about to give up on it.
Our shed (a.k.a. our local dump) was in desperate need of cleaning. It started out fairly uneventfully; I discovered that the number of both rakes and shovels exceeds the number of people in the house, and that we have an unusually large number of hand rakes and shovels. As I was condensing my mom's junk into boxes and moving them to the back of the shed I discovered the Mushroom Kingdom, complete with a grumpy cactus and a guy running around in red suspenders. True to it's 2D form, the Kingdom was entirely contained in the space between a row of boxes and the shed wall.
When I was finished, I proceeded to mow the front lawn. To my dismay I found that a colony of ants had taken up residence between the motor cover and the engine. Perhaps it was to their dismay, because the mower started right away and I mowed the lawn. Since it's been raining for the last few days the grass was longer than usual and left a lot of clippings. I decided to rake them up and toss them on the compost pile I made last year. Sometime between late last year and early this year all the crap I had been throwing in there decomposed and I had a nice big pile of compost. Which is nice because I was about to give up on it.
Thursday, May 19, 2011
275 Words, Just for You
All I wanted to do when I got home was write a 700 word essay about how $500 would help me achieve my dreams for a meager chance to win the said $500. That's how desperate I am for money. Instead I'm going to blog about how much I hate my life, because it seems that that's all I'm really good at.
All I ever hear is what people need from me. Whether it's idiot customers, my idiot bosses, or my idiot family, they all want something from me all the time. No one ever stops to ask me if I need anything. No one bothers to take my needs into account. Instead of "Hey, are you okay today," or "Is there anything I can do to make your situation better," it's always "Smile Rich," and "I don't want you to be so moody (presumably because it makes my mother look bad to other people)."
Do you know what I want? I want to move on with my life. I want to get the fuck out of my parents house. I want to tell my boss (take your pick) to fuck himself over the PA on a busy day. I want people to start respecting my time. I want people to start respecting me, as a person, and stop talking to me condescendingly. I want to go to college completely free like many of the people I know who didn't work for it. I want a cushy job, getting paid $11 an hour for data entry. I want something completely different.
I'm tired and I'm annoyed at the crappy job I'm stuck at and I can't take it anymore.
All I ever hear is what people need from me. Whether it's idiot customers, my idiot bosses, or my idiot family, they all want something from me all the time. No one ever stops to ask me if I need anything. No one bothers to take my needs into account. Instead of "Hey, are you okay today," or "Is there anything I can do to make your situation better," it's always "Smile Rich," and "I don't want you to be so moody (presumably because it makes my mother look bad to other people)."
Do you know what I want? I want to move on with my life. I want to get the fuck out of my parents house. I want to tell my boss (take your pick) to fuck himself over the PA on a busy day. I want people to start respecting my time. I want people to start respecting me, as a person, and stop talking to me condescendingly. I want to go to college completely free like many of the people I know who didn't work for it. I want a cushy job, getting paid $11 an hour for data entry. I want something completely different.
I'm tired and I'm annoyed at the crappy job I'm stuck at and I can't take it anymore.
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