(no subject)
So I got a new job! As a clerical student assistant for the UCD Extension. Which means a)no more working weekends (ABOUT FUCKING TIME!!!!!), b)no more working on Christmas Eve, c)no more working past 5pm, d)no more fucking dumbshit retail customers, and e)no more being Alzada's bitch. THANK GOD. Considering last weekend all I wanted to do at work was sleep, read Harry Potter, or scream.
I am currently being a passive-aggressive roommate. And I don't care. Considering the mood I'm in, making other people share the misery is becoming a turn-on. I'm just pissed that I couldn't get a ride to Angelina's graduation party that didn't come an hour and a half too late and wouldn't cost me the last of my cash in gas money (isn't living with a tight-wad FUN? Especially when you're waiting for your new check card to come in the mail so you have to cling to every penny if you want to eat).
I'm tired. Tired of being sick. Tired of taking multiple inhalers multiple times a day and still coughing so hard I almost gag. Tired of not being 21. Tired of not being invited out. Tired of leading along this poor guy because I don't know what the fuck I want in this relationship. Tired of running out of money at the end of every month. Tired of loud neighbors and loud roommates. Tired of being lied to. Tired of living in a society that requires cars, and tired of not having one. Tired of being a medicore actress that can't sing or dance. Tired of being too emotionally attatched to material objects. Tired of the pathetic state of America. Tired of always putting off living life to next time/weekend/party/year/LIFE. Tired of being so melodramatic in a fucking online journal, no wonder half my friends think I'm going nutters.
Maybe if I slept, I wouldn't be so tired. Oh wait, apparently the rest of the world thinks that 1am is a great time to shout drunkenly out the window. Turns out George Bush won't be the first person I kill, (yeah you read that right, Ashcroft, and you can go fuck yourself), it will be the next asshole that screams outside my window.
I don't want therapy. I don't want drugs. I just want a bottle of rum, a shotgun, and a revolution.
I am currently being a passive-aggressive roommate. And I don't care. Considering the mood I'm in, making other people share the misery is becoming a turn-on. I'm just pissed that I couldn't get a ride to Angelina's graduation party that didn't come an hour and a half too late and wouldn't cost me the last of my cash in gas money (isn't living with a tight-wad FUN? Especially when you're waiting for your new check card to come in the mail so you have to cling to every penny if you want to eat).
I'm tired. Tired of being sick. Tired of taking multiple inhalers multiple times a day and still coughing so hard I almost gag. Tired of not being 21. Tired of not being invited out. Tired of leading along this poor guy because I don't know what the fuck I want in this relationship. Tired of running out of money at the end of every month. Tired of loud neighbors and loud roommates. Tired of being lied to. Tired of living in a society that requires cars, and tired of not having one. Tired of being a medicore actress that can't sing or dance. Tired of being too emotionally attatched to material objects. Tired of the pathetic state of America. Tired of always putting off living life to next time/weekend/party/year/LIFE. Tired of being so melodramatic in a fucking online journal, no wonder half my friends think I'm going nutters.
Maybe if I slept, I wouldn't be so tired. Oh wait, apparently the rest of the world thinks that 1am is a great time to shout drunkenly out the window. Turns out George Bush won't be the first person I kill, (yeah you read that right, Ashcroft, and you can go fuck yourself), it will be the next asshole that screams outside my window.
I don't want therapy. I don't want drugs. I just want a bottle of rum, a shotgun, and a revolution.