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One of these days, I'm going to lose it completely and not be able to censor the little part of my brain that tells me to do socially-acceptable things rather than shove people down the stairs and laugh and eat their kidneys. You will all be aware of this day for it shall be the day that I post a whole lot of very specific insults.
But don't take that the wrong way: remember Calvin's dictum. Nothing helps a bad mood like spreading it around. And baby, this one is bad.
Today, however, despite my anger and stress and dissatisfaction with life as I know it, is not that day. Perhaps it is because it took me three hours to get home, a distance of thirteen miles, and over two hours of that was spent going two of those miles. Why? Because I was diligent, yet lazy - as in, I left work and went down the street in the fucking snow, and THEN decided to go back and get the goddamn proof of To Sleep With Evil in case I can't work tomorrow, and when I was committed to going back to get it, ONLY THEN did I find out that a) that road was, like, completely fucking blocked because no one in this town can drive in the snow and b) I can't make it up a hill that's icing over. But I parked the car and walked back to work (all of two blocks), got my proof and set off again - to spend damn close to an hour going from Lind Ave to just west (ie: 2 suburban blocks) of the train tracks in Renton.
And this is the irony: once I got on Interurban, it was, essentially, bare and wet until I got to First Ave. South, south of Normandy Park Drive. I fucking hate snow, I fucking hate Seattle drivers, I fucking hate Renton, and I fucking hate, essentially, everything ever.
Except my dad, who moved my bed today. Except for the part about having to have my keys so I'm staying at my parents' house tonight. AGAIN. Why bother moving if I'm going to spend FOUR DAYS at their house ANYWAY? I could have gotten an apartment that has NO crack addicts living at it!
You know what I'd like?
New skin. That's what I'd like.
Or possibly a crack whore to beat up. That would work too.
One crack addict at your apartment is one too many, in my opinion.
But don't take that the wrong way: remember Calvin's dictum. Nothing helps a bad mood like spreading it around. And baby, this one is bad.
Today, however, despite my anger and stress and dissatisfaction with life as I know it, is not that day. Perhaps it is because it took me three hours to get home, a distance of thirteen miles, and over two hours of that was spent going two of those miles. Why? Because I was diligent, yet lazy - as in, I left work and went down the street in the fucking snow, and THEN decided to go back and get the goddamn proof of To Sleep With Evil in case I can't work tomorrow, and when I was committed to going back to get it, ONLY THEN did I find out that a) that road was, like, completely fucking blocked because no one in this town can drive in the snow and b) I can't make it up a hill that's icing over. But I parked the car and walked back to work (all of two blocks), got my proof and set off again - to spend damn close to an hour going from Lind Ave to just west (ie: 2 suburban blocks) of the train tracks in Renton.
And this is the irony: once I got on Interurban, it was, essentially, bare and wet until I got to First Ave. South, south of Normandy Park Drive. I fucking hate snow, I fucking hate Seattle drivers, I fucking hate Renton, and I fucking hate, essentially, everything ever.
Except my dad, who moved my bed today. Except for the part about having to have my keys so I'm staying at my parents' house tonight. AGAIN. Why bother moving if I'm going to spend FOUR DAYS at their house ANYWAY? I could have gotten an apartment that has NO crack addicts living at it!
You know what I'd like?
New skin. That's what I'd like.
Or possibly a crack whore to beat up. That would work too.
One crack addict at your apartment is one too many, in my opinion.
