I keep hoping that it will get better, but apparently it's just a whole lot of fun to kick me when I'm down. This week is just another good example.
Monday was payday. Tuesday I was denied a purchase of under $13.
Hmmm... something's wrong.
Wednesday I called the library to ask where my money is. They tell me I didn't get paid because they didn't get a time card. Which is odd as my supervisor hands those in. They tell me they emailed me, I tell them the library has repeatedly denied my request for a work computer and I work two nights a week. I don't get emails.
I ask if I hand in a time card now, will I get paid?
On the next payday.
In two weeks.
So I ditch my friends, drive all the way downtown, fill out a time card, get yelled at by the payroll chick, treated like shit and told that I'm just SOL. All of which, I'm sure, will come back to bite me in the ass.
Oh and I'm still FUCKING BROKE.
So I call my mom, who decides to start a fight with me on the phone after I tell her about all of this. Good timing.
I hang up on her and, using my very best judgement (that only comes with insane levels of frustration mixed with an explosive temper), I start punching things. Mostly my steering wheel.
My last punch lands off and I catch my last knuckle. Which pops.
It's still bruised and sore. I'm not completely sure I didn't break something.
Yes, this is how I deal with my anger. I can punch things or I can punch you. Deal with it.
Between Thursday and Friday the noise my car is making has gotten a whole fuck of a lot worse. I'm not convinced that my muffler is fucked. Which is just perfect as, you may have forgotten, I'M FUCKING BROKE BECAUSE I DIDN'T GET PAID!
And then today... Today I went for breakfast at my parents. I spent an hour there and left because my mother worked me in to a panic attack that consumed most of my day. She did call later tho... to ask what we're doing for father's day tomorrow. You know, because at that moment, that was all I was thinking about.
She did manage to work and "are you okay?" in at the end.
No, no I'm not. No you can't help. Please go away.
Then I came in to work. For some reason, the theatre coordinator thought it would be a really good idea to put two obscenely long movies on back to back, so I work until 11.30pm. When I go to do cash out, the numbers look a little odd but I don't think much of it.
When I pull the takings and count the float, I'm out.
That's. Not. Possible.
Seems the cashier last night fucked up and threw the numbers out. So I'm stuck with a fucking mess. Which is perfect after I just had a fight with payroll about my money and that looks bad. Really. Fucking. Bad.
Man, I love having a breakdown at work. Really. Too much fun.
So I don't know about you guys, but me? I'm fucking finished. I don't want to play any more. Leave me the fuck alone. I'm not even in the fucking mood to kid about it.
So any bullshit you may have had for me, you can shove right up your ass.