You Smile & Say The World Doesn’t Fit With You…

Today is one of those "it started out great and went downhill from there" kind of days.  Work was fine, didn’t miss more than 5 times and only forgot to enter a few things a couple times.

Got lunch, took the bus home, walked the 7 blocks to the house.  And those fucking dogs wouldn’t shut the fuck up for the next 45 minutes after I got home.  And the house was so hot that I literally stripped down to my underwear less than five minutes after I walked in the door.  In the living room.  That has only sheers on the windows.

So, I finally went to change, then upstairs to get the dogs up.  They race down the stairs, growling and snapping and generally being stupid, and I’m swearing at them the whole goddamn time.  By the way, our neighbour kid comes over at noon everyday to let them out and feed them, and I got home just after one.  But they freaked the fuck out anyways.  So, I got them up, and they came downstairs and flopped on the floor, staring at me like I owed them something more.

And I gave them nothing more.  Not because I don’t love them (though sometimes, they really wear my patience and test that…), because I do, but for God’s sake, I’d just gotten home and all I wanted to do was breathe and read and listen to music and try not to let myself break down.

And it’s only gotten worse since then.  For instance, I ordered delivery from Boston Pizza.  I was in my room when the doorbell rang, which set the dogs off, of course.  So, I ran up the stairs to get the door, only to slip as I was going up, banging the shit out of my left knee and hitting my left big toe quite nicely as well.  It was all I could do not to scream "FUCK" at the top of my lungs.  And then, $15.50 later, I’m eating my fettucine alfredo, which has an obscene amount of chopped parsely garnish, and my so-brown-it’s-almost-black garlic toast, and it tastes so bland that I have to add a bunch of salt and pray that the next bite will be better than the last (which, of course, it’s not).

Then the cat comes downstairs while I’m eating, and crawls all over me and my desk, shedding cat hair all over the place and practically into my food.  And I realize I’ve forgotten my drink on the fucking kitchen counter.

So I eat half my pasta, and go upstairs, throw out the rest and get chastized for wasting it.  Explain that it was completely tasteless, get bitched at for wasting, again, and bitch back about my absolutely ACHING knee.

So that’s pretty much where we stand right now.

Oh, right, and I work at 7 am.  On a Saturday.  Which means I have to be up by 6, and out of the house by 6.30 to be there on time.  To a lab I’ve never worked at.  In the skeeziest mall in Alberta, where a glass-walled liquor store looks onto the bingo hall and Slutty Girls Emporium.  Kill me now.

Right.  That’s all.

– motorcycle driveby – third eye blind –