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Warning, contains language.
Jun. 11th, 2003 01:11 amI'm so fucken miserable. This whole week has been a complete fucken mess, and it's only going to get worse from hereon in.
I wish I had never promised Leanne I'd babysit her damn house. It's caused me nothing but severe inconvenience, and I'm not even being paid for it, as I was for Andrea's. If I wasn't house sitting, I could have stayed at Nat's for at least part of the time, severely cutting down on my travel time and hassle in general. If I hadn't been house sitting, I would have got some damn washing done, and I'd have something to wear to work tomorrow. I put on a load earlier today, but Leanne doesn't have a dryer, and because I've been in at the theatre all fucken evening, I couldn't put them on the line.
I wish I wasn't doing this fucken production for Sam. Between this fucken play, and the fucken house sitting, and the fact I'm working full time at this shitty job, my whole life is a fucken mess. What the hell am I supposed to do with all the fucken perishables I have in Daharja's fridge? I have nowhere to store them, and I can't leave them in her fridge as she's vegan, and I spent fifty-fucken-dollars on them. Fifty dollars to feed myself, and I ate fuck-all of it because I was at the theatre. I can't leave them and my car at her place tomorrow and come back for them later, because the first show is on tomorrow. I wouldn't get back here until 11ish, and she and her husband will be back by then. Nor do I relish another fucken midnight drive when I have to get up at 6.30 for work.
I feel like shit, both emotionally and physically. I'm tired and I'm sick. Can't take another day off, as I have already had two days of not being paid this week (Monday being a public holiday and all). All my clothes are lying of Leanne's kitchen table in the faint hope that they'll dry for tomorrow. I have nothing to wear. My favourite work shirt - the only work shirt I like - has red splotches over the cuffs and collar from another item in the wash. None of the clothes washed properly, so not only do they still smell, but are damp as well. I'm starting to wish that Daharja had a damn gun in her house. Death'd be easier than the inevitable stink of failure.
I wish I had never promised Leanne I'd babysit her damn house. It's caused me nothing but severe inconvenience, and I'm not even being paid for it, as I was for Andrea's. If I wasn't house sitting, I could have stayed at Nat's for at least part of the time, severely cutting down on my travel time and hassle in general. If I hadn't been house sitting, I would have got some damn washing done, and I'd have something to wear to work tomorrow. I put on a load earlier today, but Leanne doesn't have a dryer, and because I've been in at the theatre all fucken evening, I couldn't put them on the line.
I wish I wasn't doing this fucken production for Sam. Between this fucken play, and the fucken house sitting, and the fact I'm working full time at this shitty job, my whole life is a fucken mess. What the hell am I supposed to do with all the fucken perishables I have in Daharja's fridge? I have nowhere to store them, and I can't leave them in her fridge as she's vegan, and I spent fifty-fucken-dollars on them. Fifty dollars to feed myself, and I ate fuck-all of it because I was at the theatre. I can't leave them and my car at her place tomorrow and come back for them later, because the first show is on tomorrow. I wouldn't get back here until 11ish, and she and her husband will be back by then. Nor do I relish another fucken midnight drive when I have to get up at 6.30 for work.
I feel like shit, both emotionally and physically. I'm tired and I'm sick. Can't take another day off, as I have already had two days of not being paid this week (Monday being a public holiday and all). All my clothes are lying of Leanne's kitchen table in the faint hope that they'll dry for tomorrow. I have nothing to wear. My favourite work shirt - the only work shirt I like - has red splotches over the cuffs and collar from another item in the wash. None of the clothes washed properly, so not only do they still smell, but are damp as well. I'm starting to wish that Daharja had a damn gun in her house. Death'd be easier than the inevitable stink of failure.
