You Know What....FUCK ALL THIS. FUCK. IT.

Yeah my fucking mood took a dive for the worse this morning. I'm gonna lay some serious fucking SHIT on the next person that even stresses me out in the slightest. I can't think of one good thing to say about anyone or anything at this particular moment. So I'm gonna let it all loose here. Because it makes me feel better. And this is what this blog is all about. And if you don't like, fucking stop reading now and go somewhere the fuck else.

Lets start with sleep. Or the lack thereof. Going on less than 15 total hours of sleep since Monday. Fucking starting to halucinate. Why can't I sleep? I don't know. Stress? Worry? Who the fuck even knows any more. I'm so tired now that I can't even SLEEP. Ridiculous. But I manage to drag myself out of bed one more day because I'm SO FUCKING EXCITED to get to my little brown cubicle (thats sarcasm kiddies...and not even subtle sarcasm). And of course the goddamn Metro is broken and its been like 7 minutes since a train has been at the platform, and the next one isn't due for another seven minutes, so you have like literally ~ and I'm not even exaggerating for effect ~ LITERALLY 3,000 people waiting for a 6 car train that holds about 600 people max. And everyone needs on that train NOW. Nothing like starting your morning crammed in to a small space with 92307384543 other motherfucking human beings, all of whom fucking STINK and are fucking LOUD and are jamming their bags/purses/arms/legs/who the fuck knows what else into your body...and oh btw you don't LIKE people in the first place...and hate to be touched... And of course, when the train stops and you need to get off...you get about a 10 second window where they open the doors and its a free~for~all to get the hell off before they close the doors and move on to the next stop...and you have people jammed in every square inch of space on this train...and the ones crammed into the door aren't getting off, aren't going to move, and won't let you off...

Makes you want to really let loose with a couple of fucking hxc moves on their fucking lame stinking fucking non-moving asses...

And what the fuck is it with people and elevators. You can be sure if there are 5 floor stops on an elevator, and you are going to the top...there will be a grand total of five people on that fucking elevator. And they will need all five floors. And if for some rare reason you get lucky and you dont have EVERY button pushed on the elevator already when you get in, you can bet you're gonna stop at a floor you didn't push a button for, and some lazy jackfuckass is gonna get on and go up ONE fucking floor to the next floor no one pushed a button for, so that you can still visit every fucking floor on your way to the top floor.

So I manage to make it to the general area of my little brown cube... and it starts. *Good Morning!* *Morning!* hey *Good Morning!* NO ITS FUCKING NOT A GOOD MORNING. I am not a morning person. I'm not really a day person or a night person either, I pretty much hate it all. But of them all, morning is the worst. And having just had a lovely commute in, its really not been a *good* morning, yet coworkers insist on shoving this shit down your throat every day. And you know what, they don't even CARE if you have a good morning or not, its just something they are trained to say, like little automatons or some shit. There's no genuine meaning or feeling behind it. *Hey, Good Morning!* Its almost as annoying as the *hello* bullshit when you pass someone in the hall. What the hell is with that, anyway? Every time you pass someone you know in the hall, even if you've already had a conversation with them that day...you always have to say *hi!* or *hey!* or *how's it going?*, like anyone really cares how its going... It's like...OH LOOK, I KNOW YOU!!! HI!!! Um yeah you fucking know me. We work here. We are here more than we are with our families. Of course you know me. You don't have to fucking greet me every time you see me. Its ok if we have comfortable silence. I don't need to be greeted. Thanks.

Then there's the arbitary decision by someone somewhere that you need to go to training in Filthydelphia for a week...the same week that there's a convention. And the only available hotel rooms are an HOUR away. Christ I only live TWO hours away. Fuck that shit. Fuck...and I do mean FUCK. That. Shit. I couldn't be more livid about it if I tried. My fucking eyeballs are about to pop out of my head...

And you wonder why I'm angry...

I wonder why I'm not dead....

Oh and there is SOOO much more to go on about. Oh so much more. Like fucking hollow doppelgangers who like to attach themselves to a host organism, then proceed to suck the soul right out them....and then try to rework themselves in the image of their host organism, assuming their personality and identity. Of course they fail miserably and pitifully, but that doesn't stop them from flailing around hopelessly until they find another host organism to attach themselves to... and start the process again...

And some people just don't get this: comparisons when made without benefit of EVIDENCE tend to devaluate the better of the two things you are comparing. And quite frankly, I'm tired of being devaluated by everyfuckingbody that just doesn't UNDERSTAND what it's all about. See, cuz when you actually have the evidence, and you realize that the comparisons you made were not valid...the damage is already done to the one who would have been victorious. So thanks for that. Thanks a fucking lot.

Cryptic Writings on the Wall...The Beginning of the End. Fuck today. I need sleep. I need all stupid people to die. I need to get the fuck out of DC. And I really don't care what order all that happens in, as long as it happens...

*sits and waits*

Monday... *sigh*

Oh my freaking God, its Monday AGAIN...how does this keep happening? I feel like I accomplished nothing over the weekend. In reality, I finished a straight jacket, started on a commissioned hoodie, made a new corset, went live with the D.Y.O Shrugs page on my website, designed and ordered some business cards...went out to eat Saturday night, got plastered, got laid...heh...

Yet I feel like I wasted my weekend. I seems I should have been able to accomplish more with that treasured 48 hours. I really am too hard on myself. And I know this, obviously, because I just wrote it down, yet I can't seem to get the idea to actually SINK into my head that I work enough...hell I work TOO much...but I feel always like I'm five seconds from being buried alive in my work ~ both works ~ and that if I'd just APPLY myself, I could get ahead of the work avalanche. So I work harder, and harder and harder...

My head is so messed up.

At any rate, that weekend passed and now I have to endure 5 more days of hell before I can get a stab at making better use of another one.

I remember when I was a kid, my mom would always say, *Don't be in a hurry to grow up...being a kid is a LOT more fun than being an adult, and once you're an adult, you're an adult FOREVER...* I used to think she was nuts...because I was kid and I wanted to grow up...but guess what, she was right. God damn it. God double damn it, I hate it when she's right....

All I have to look forward to in my life is work...8 hours a day, 5 days a week, 50 weeks a year, every year until the day I retire...HAHAHA retire, like I'm not already almost 40 years old with not one fucking red cent saved toward retirement...or die. And I'm not the only one out there living this wretched, horrific monotony. This is the life of the typical American adult.

Day in day out day in day out...get up, get a shower, go to work, work, go home, work, go to bed. get up, get a shower, go to work, work, go home, work, go to bed. Wash rinse repeat. Its like Groundhog Day (that lame movie with Bill Murray) only worse, cuz this ain't no movie... It's enough to make you wonder what the FUCK this is for. I don't need fancy, expensive shit...ok I need gasoline, and that, my friends, is EXPENSIVE SHIT...but really, I'm not out to own a Mercedes or a big fucking house in a gated community. I want to eat, have a place to live where I'm not afraid of being shot at, drive a Jeep that runs, and maybe have a few extra bucks to go out to eat on Saturday night, get plastered, and get laid...

This can't be all there is to this...