August 24, 2004

August 24, 2004 - 3:29 p.m.

My pockets are full of poo

I hate my job. I hate my job. I hate my job.

I hate that they have pushed me back into my old position and still want me to do the current job, too. I hate that the UCs haven't had a merit raise in 3 years. I hate that my workload is inversely proportional to how much I care about the work.

I hate my house. I hate its water leak in the two-year old jacuzzi tub that has worked its way under the shared wall and into my neighbor's living room. I hate the damaged carpet in my house and the neighbor's house. I hate the fucknut contractor who installed the tub onto wood (!) instead of the concrete slab and left a chunk of 2"x4" on the ground for termites to infest. I hate the neighbor's attitude that the shared wall is entirely my problem. I hate the insurance company representative who won't tell me who's responsible financially for any of this mess. I hate the California statute of limitations on construction work.

I motherfucking LOATHE the contractors who left my indoor cat outside for 6 HOURS yesterday.

I hate that we can't shower or bathe at the house for two weeks. Bathing is my favorite source of relaxation.

I hate the SCC bookstore for refusing to buy back my books when the white sign on the door clearly reads, "Buy-Backs this way". I hate the girl who hit my car with her car on the way to SCC yesterday. I hate the Los Rios Community College System for making me go to two separate campuses to pick up forms that could be OCR'd and uploaded onto their sites in ten minutes flat. I hate that I've had to drop out for the semester because I'm losing my stupid mind with stress.

I hate that on Saturday I'm trying to get a second job to pay for the new contractors, the termites and the deductible. I hate that I had already ordered new cellphones for le Coq and myself and that even though they were FREE - no shipping costs, nothing - I feel guilty about ordering them.

I hate that at le Coq's brother's place last weekend, I cried until the pillowcase was slick and was afraid of waking someone. I hate that I dreamt about being beaten; even more, I hate that the other dreams were about money and shame. I hate that I can't be happy for a friend with 5,000 shares of Google. I hate googling the word 'bankruptcy'. I hate feeling like my parents are right; that I am a fuckup.

I hate knowing that someone else, with better coping skills, could totally be in a good mood right now. I, on the other hand, would give up World Series tickets for an IV drip of dry martini.

And most of all I hate myself a whooooole lot right now.

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