The real story. I don't like my job. Fact: I hate my job. Being at work for a whole week now gives me a significant amount of evidence to say FUCK THIS! I'm starting to take the sketchier path home, with the ultimate hope that I'll get stabbed and need to spend the next 2 months recovering.
It doesn't help that the entire time I am at work I can't ( Read more... )

This dog, though he shouldn't see much use, seems to be getting very popular. I'm finding it hard feel happy because even when something lifts me up, I crash soon after (this may seem like a drug reference, but its not. Its me not being able to stay happy for long).

I could blame work, or I could blame this one issue I've been dwelling on all year. ( Read more... )

Let's get the business out of the way:
I hate work. I hate responding to other people, taking their orders and having them boss me around. I like to be treated as an equal, but that won't happen at this job and I've accepted it.
But work at this place is crazy. The owner is clueless. I'm washing dishes and he'll come to me and tell me to wash dishes ( Read more... )

Dying... Dying inside. That's what I'm doing. With work starting before my parents get home, I don't see them very often. But that's not why I'm dying.
It's because I like it. I like not seeing my parents, I like being in my own little world where they don't exist. But I'm dying because it kills me.
Let's fast-forward to tonight. I went on a Tim ( Read more... )

No matter how media may portray it, and no matter how many times I see it, and no matter how many times I hear people talking about how family is great and important and all of that, I still don't get it.

It makes me sad, but I've come to terms with the fact that I just don't get along with my family, and some day, we'll drift apart and I really don ( Read more... )