Work.
Okies. A subject -everyone- knows. Work. Flatout sucks, right? Eh. No..not to me, anyways. Most of the time, I should say eh? But..well..to others, it's a nightmare. I understand what you all feel now. Oh yes, yes indeed I do. Below, you shall read my outlook on it as usual, seems i'm finally finding a nitch in writing these god forsaken things, eh? Woo! Onto the ranting! Booya!
Work. Beautiful thing, to me it is. You see, I come from a "workaholic" bloodline, if you will. We enjoy it. We enjoy busting our asses for the big pay off. As they say, go big or go home, that would be the moto for this family..the males, anyways.
But recently, I have come to wonder..THE FUCK DID I GET THESE GOD DAMNED DENTURES FOR!?!?! What brought this up, you all may ask? Simple! Because, I was happy that I got a job..simply because I had bad teeth. I didn't mind washing dishes and or cooking chicken. In truth, I don't mind the cooking chicken part. It's fun, cept the occasional burns from the boiling hot oil..but it comes with the area, hrm? Indeed. But the dish washing I have come to wonder..if I got these fucking teeth. Endured countless god damned hours of pain and misery. Being fucking called anemic(People who can't heal because they don't eat.) by the fucking dentist people. Taking so many fucking medications that it's screwed up my immune system for the time being..why..WHY did I get these fucking teeth if i'm going to be stuck in the back, away from all human fucking life..washing other peoples dishes?
Of course, it's not all bad. I have three things that make it somewhat decent going there. One, free food and unlimited soda; most of the time. Two, Adrian and Michael. Fucking funny assed people. Other then that, I do wonder why? Just fucking -why-?
Oh yes, some of you ask. "Why don't you go looking for a job?" You see, seeing how I am still in the 'healing stages' of all this shit, it makes it rather unpleasent to go looking for a fucking job when your doped up on Oxy Codine. So of course, I have to wait. And the more I wait, the more I can feel it.
Feel what? Oh, you all don't know me..uhm. Yes, lets just say - I bottle things up. My frustrations. My anger. My rage. My sadness. It all goes into a neat little bottle. And I can feel it. Growing. Festering. Just sitting there and waiting, waiting for that god forsaken boss of mine to say one wrong fucking thing before it desides to explode. Oh yes. And seeing how I can wait until we have a 60 someodd person party? Have fun! Ha! FUCK YOU!
And well..how to say, seeing how I have no one to fucking HELP me get around town to collect up applications and shit? Well, yes. Rather unpleasent. At least my uncle helped me with that. Drove me all over the town. Miles each way, went in with me and everything to snag applications. My grandparents do that? Fuck no. They bitch at having to take me out. Ha. Well if you want your fucking 300 fucking bucks every month for rent/bills..then you best fucking help me. Or you don't get jack fucking shit. Regardless to how much I owe you, you won't get any money after it's been paid off. So fuck you both.
Ah well..enough ranting and raving for now. Laters.