previous // June 02, 2008
// 9:26 a.m. // next
Please, no. Don't let it be Monday. Monday means being responsible. Monday means effort. Monday means being on edge in case the phone rings (which it did, and I ignored it). Gah.
I've turned into a weird, hormonal witch (only the other word that begins with another letter). It's like I'm having an out of body experience sometimes, then wonder why MB just doesn't get it when clearly I've been crystal clear as to why I feel like I do (I have no idea). He's a black/white type of person, there's no need to get emotions involved, and pick a feeling if you must already! He doesn't get why I'm so tired all the time, especially when all I've done is subbed (oh, if he only knew!), and to stop whining about being tired anyway because he gets up early five days a week and works 60+ hour weeks.
Being a snarky and sarcasti-bitch, I'm finding it hard to bite my tongue when he brings all this stuff up. Any reason I can possibly come up with as to why I feel and act the way I do is simply an excuse and to suck it up and deal with it. Well, homey, I don't play that. It's my pity party and I'll cry if I want to. I'm frustrated that all I ever do is sub. It's not a guarantee that I'll be back at the college next semester in any capacity. I can't apply for jobs that aren't there. No matter how little I try to spend, my money disappears faster and faster. Because I'm so down about the job situation, I'm not exactly feeling domestic, hence the mountain of dishes and shlubby floors. I'm not a happy kitty at the moment, so when you say asinine things like reminding me how much you work and I get snippy, gee, wonder why.
Would it kill you to hug me, hold me, and tell me that you know things are sucky for me, that even though you're not sure that everything will be fine, that you're here for me? Could you just show a little compassion instead of telling me to "walk it off" as it were? Haven't you figured out in four years that I don't operate like you do and that, maybe, a different tact is needed to keep me from becoming Attila the Hormonal Hun?
Apologies for the rant this morning. On a scale of 1 to 10, my adequacy is hovering around a 3 at the moment. I can clearly picture my elementary school report cards and can see a big check mark in the "Needs Improvement" category.
Hope this pity party has drink specials,
Ter
© 2002-2008
|
