It’s Definitely Not Sunday Again

Monday morning starts off with my alarm working perfectly.  Apparently I am not.  Never heard a sound from 5:45 am when the alarm began it’s attempts to arouse me, until I actually woke up (primarily because it was so damn bright in my bedroom) at 8:30 am.

As I rush around to make coffee and gather my wits, my non-working or going to school 17 year old, (who will be working by Tuesday, AND enrolled in an online program or she’ll be lacking a house and food) strolls out of her room in a perky mood, looking beautiful and well refreshed, asking if she may have some coffee while humming a tune.  Why does this make me hate her more than I already do?  One can infer, I have my own reasons.

Now it’s 11:45 am and I’m still attempting to ingest enough coffee to lose the puffy eyes and co-workers are microwaving their lunch, making the whole place smell like food – yuck!  Half my day is missing and I’m trying to catch the hell up.  And write about it.  Because writing about it helps.  And takes up more time.  And I work better under pressure.

I Leaked

I let it out a little.  Leaked some.  I was myself just for a few minutes with some office staff that I almost don’t hate, and lines were crossed.  Things were said.  There is no going back.  They know I’m not who I pretend to be.  They know I curse like a sailor, in general think men are walking hard penises and I don’t vote.  I’ll return tomorrow with my normal face on, in hopes they have had enough personal crisis to forget my abnormal self.  

I don’t want your goddamn cookies!

It’s official today: I’m not happy with my job.  It’s been almost exactly a month and I feel like coming to work equals going to the hole.  You know, like in prison when you “go to the hole” for whatever bad thing you did.  I’m fairly sure going to work shouldn’t feel like going to prison.  Mostly I hate the climate here.  Everyone walks around in slacks, ties and acts like they really like each other, which is bullshit.  We all hate each other and this place.  People buy cookies from whatever dumb parent got sucked into selling them for their dumb kids and it becomes a competition of who’s cubical list has the most names.  Oh. My. Fucking. God. I do not want to buy cookies for any cause.  I lied when I said I would.  Lied!   I don’t like causes in general, especially when they benefit kids!  

Monday’s Gone with the Slamming of the Door

Ready for bed, but a smidge too irritated with the female child to relax.  I’m trying to remember if at 17 I was such a mouthy, evil obnoxious ass.  I’m almost certain I was not.  On the outside.  Really.  Considering I had two kids at that age, I couldn’t afford to piss too many people off, especially relatives.  You know, the ones who are supposed to stick around and do the awful things to help that no one else will.  They did, though I’m not sure why.  I can honestly say that if my kids had kids now, I would abandon the shit out of them…all!  No problem here, I’d just say ‘no thank you, I’m done and this is your problem.  Didn’t my life serve as enough of a horrid warning?’  Jesus, the nerve of teenage girls these days.  And yes, I just said ‘these days’.

On the semi-brighter side of things the new job hasn’t sent me into an all consuming panic attack yet.  Of course it’s only been one day, but that is more than I expected.  Apparently I underestimated my ability to deceive.  I’ve been ready for bed since 6:15 and am somehow still awake which will stop soon.  How long will I be able to keep the charade afloat?  Time will tell, my friends, time will tell.