Died as a white skeleton robot
Barbles.
This is the single most profound statement I can muster at the moment.
My escort/security job at NSA was supposed to start on the 10th, and I got a call on the 9th at about noon telling me it doesn't start until the 24th. So that starts next week. The maximum shift time is from 0630 - 1630, and on Thursday/Friday of each week, from what I've been told, you tell da boss man (which is in this case a boss woman so I guess I could change that but it's too late I typed out this parenthetical so fuck editing) which hours you can work the following week, which for me would be every available hour for every week. When I signed up the agreement was since they just spent all kinds of money getting the background check and polygraph and etc etc I had to work for a minimum of six months, so March 24th my contract with them will be up. Once I'm done with the security contractor, I'm finding someone that will pay me an real-person salary for the security clearance and college diploma that I now have and dropping both the escort and UPS because oh Bacchus am I fucking tired of working at UPS. As it is, until March of next year I am working both jobs. Why? Because the escort job is entirely day-shift work and has no benefits whatsoever, and UPS is entirely night-shift and pays like trash but has better health insurance than I can afford without being a unionized worker.
What all this means is that if you thought I was a hateful, spiteful ass for the last several years, get ready for a new world of fun and entertaining possibilities from Assholeland. Because the next six months are probably going to be the worst six months of my life. And I am going to be very vocal about how terrible it is going to bed within 15 minutes of getting home and night and waking up at dickfuck o'clock in the morning, and how much I hate people. If I can manage a single sentence between next Thursday and March that doesn't include the word "fuck" or "moron", consider the existence of some extra-dimensional Deity that watches over everyone and loves us all and gives a damn to be a possibility. I won't, but you can feel free to go ahead because me not swearing constantly would be some kind of Christmas Miracle, on the scale of Little Boy and Fat Man turning into clown cars full of balloons and nitrous oxide and descending upon a cancer ward at some fancy hospital for poor people and turning them all into Roman soldiers bent upon the destruction of the ozone layer.
You see what I did there? This is what my brain does when I get up early. That, and have some of the most bizarre, hyper-realistic dreams that are full of the most mundane things I've ever dreamed and some of the most incredibly bizarre things I've ever dreamed.
Like being dressed in some kind of medieval leather armor, and yelling at Patrick while I drive a Jeep on the beach somewhere where there is a dog show going on but oh wait the sun is red like that of Krypton and oh hey that's not Patrick it's an anthropomorphic squid wearing glasses.
The King is dead. Long live the King.
This is the single most profound statement I can muster at the moment.
My escort/security job at NSA was supposed to start on the 10th, and I got a call on the 9th at about noon telling me it doesn't start until the 24th. So that starts next week. The maximum shift time is from 0630 - 1630, and on Thursday/Friday of each week, from what I've been told, you tell da boss man (which is in this case a boss woman so I guess I could change that but it's too late I typed out this parenthetical so fuck editing) which hours you can work the following week, which for me would be every available hour for every week. When I signed up the agreement was since they just spent all kinds of money getting the background check and polygraph and etc etc I had to work for a minimum of six months, so March 24th my contract with them will be up. Once I'm done with the security contractor, I'm finding someone that will pay me an real-person salary for the security clearance and college diploma that I now have and dropping both the escort and UPS because oh Bacchus am I fucking tired of working at UPS. As it is, until March of next year I am working both jobs. Why? Because the escort job is entirely day-shift work and has no benefits whatsoever, and UPS is entirely night-shift and pays like trash but has better health insurance than I can afford without being a unionized worker.
What all this means is that if you thought I was a hateful, spiteful ass for the last several years, get ready for a new world of fun and entertaining possibilities from Assholeland. Because the next six months are probably going to be the worst six months of my life. And I am going to be very vocal about how terrible it is going to bed within 15 minutes of getting home and night and waking up at dickfuck o'clock in the morning, and how much I hate people. If I can manage a single sentence between next Thursday and March that doesn't include the word "fuck" or "moron", consider the existence of some extra-dimensional Deity that watches over everyone and loves us all and gives a damn to be a possibility. I won't, but you can feel free to go ahead because me not swearing constantly would be some kind of Christmas Miracle, on the scale of Little Boy and Fat Man turning into clown cars full of balloons and nitrous oxide and descending upon a cancer ward at some fancy hospital for poor people and turning them all into Roman soldiers bent upon the destruction of the ozone layer.
You see what I did there? This is what my brain does when I get up early. That, and have some of the most bizarre, hyper-realistic dreams that are full of the most mundane things I've ever dreamed and some of the most incredibly bizarre things I've ever dreamed.
Like being dressed in some kind of medieval leather armor, and yelling at Patrick while I drive a Jeep on the beach somewhere where there is a dog show going on but oh wait the sun is red like that of Krypton and oh hey that's not Patrick it's an anthropomorphic squid wearing glasses.
The King is dead. Long live the King.