(no subject)
I'm going to say this once, and then the next time someone starts with me about this, I'm going to just point them here and tell them to STFU.
I spend my whole fucking week running around like a madwoman, working my ass off (regardless of how some people view my job and what I do with my time). On the weekends, I relax. I don't clean (unless I'm manic and it's compulsive), I don't run errands for anyone but myself, and actually, I don't do ANYTHING for anyone other than myself. My weekends are my own. They're MINE.
And if I tell you, fifteen times, that I don't need everyone telling me what I should or shouldn't be doing, or dumping more of their shit on me? Then don't start saying it a sixteenth time. Just DON'T. Because chances are better that I'll spend the rest of the night sitting, staring off into space letting my mind wander (without a tv on, even) than that I'll actually do anything you asked me to do.
So, basically, to specify what the fuck inspired this random rant of nonsense? To all the familial types who are sitting here telling me to start packing six fucking weeks before I absolutely NEED to be out (and four weeks before I PLAN on being out)?? SHUT THE FUCK UP.
(And for the record? My college dormroom was probably about twice the size of my current bedroom and was packed wall to wall with SHIT, and I got that packed up in about 24 hours flat. Considering that only about 10% of what's in the rest of the apartment is mine? I'm not fucking worried -- and I'm NOT fucking starting to pack yet. I don't live out of boxes anymore, and I don't plan on going back to it now.)
Thus endeth this test of the family broadcast network. Were this not a test, it would've been a lot louder and a lot more swearing. (Unbelievable, I know, but true.)
I spend my whole fucking week running around like a madwoman, working my ass off (regardless of how some people view my job and what I do with my time). On the weekends, I relax. I don't clean (unless I'm manic and it's compulsive), I don't run errands for anyone but myself, and actually, I don't do ANYTHING for anyone other than myself. My weekends are my own. They're MINE.
And if I tell you, fifteen times, that I don't need everyone telling me what I should or shouldn't be doing, or dumping more of their shit on me? Then don't start saying it a sixteenth time. Just DON'T. Because chances are better that I'll spend the rest of the night sitting, staring off into space letting my mind wander (without a tv on, even) than that I'll actually do anything you asked me to do.
So, basically, to specify what the fuck inspired this random rant of nonsense? To all the familial types who are sitting here telling me to start packing six fucking weeks before I absolutely NEED to be out (and four weeks before I PLAN on being out)?? SHUT THE FUCK UP.
(And for the record? My college dormroom was probably about twice the size of my current bedroom and was packed wall to wall with SHIT, and I got that packed up in about 24 hours flat. Considering that only about 10% of what's in the rest of the apartment is mine? I'm not fucking worried -- and I'm NOT fucking starting to pack yet. I don't live out of boxes anymore, and I don't plan on going back to it now.)
Thus endeth this test of the family broadcast network. Were this not a test, it would've been a lot louder and a lot more swearing. (Unbelievable, I know, but true.)