Essay.... Fail!

I guess I am back to work. It's entirely depressing, so I decided to open more than my usual amount from the ever-growing-skinny Present Box.

I had a really fucked day. The kind of fucked I should have been paid for. I am currently on hold with the cable company, A-FUCKING-GAIN! since we've all become close pals. No internet at the present time and to me, that's like telling a heroin addict that they stopped making it. Much monkey posturing and freaking out. This of course, all in silence as I am on the phone with the crack dealer and if I piss them off I may never see cable-internet again and have my file marked as "crazy monkey bitch." So instead I have been making wild gestures and obscene references to throwing poo while Mr. Morgan and the dogs watch this with moderate concern because they know my life is not complete without a bi-weekly call to Charter. In the end I fixed it and remapped the network myself and the man on the phone.... "Technical Support" said Really? How? I was too polite to hang up.

At work, I arrived to not only a memo from my boss, but seven pages of it. All typed out with bold and underlines, bullets and lists of shit. This fucking thing looks like a Harvard thesis. She could have saved the paper and simply written YOU SUCK! Seriously.... seven pages of how inept I am. I almost scanned it to prove how crazy this woman is. Seven. My fucking god.

My pain has become a friend I greet in the morning noon and night. We have grand conversations. I have bribed it to jump free and eat my boss's brain. The deal isn't quite sealed but an agreement may come soon.

Well that's all for today. Completely exhausted. Reading my rap sheet all but sucked the joy out of an entire kindergarden. It even finished with a paragragh called "Summary". Ya know, because I didn't catch the 6.5 other pages drift. I tell ya, I want to call in dead tomorrow. I'm not sure I'd be missed. I think Moon would. Christ... 7 pages..... I feel like a fucking scolded child. I'ts stupid and written because she keeps it in a file to prove wrong doings when one gets fired or quits with anger. I've been there five years, I'm not fucking stupid, I know exactly what it is.

Prada..... I can like ... ya know.... pretend to be a teenager? Wanna hire me? Naw, you can't afford me. dammit.

-DM



ps - I was flirted with hit on in a store at lunch today. One plus to a dick of a day. No pun intended. He was in line behind Moon and I, sporting a very cool skateboard... which of course I was hawking, then ultimately had to say something else look a retard. It was an oversized board, he was not fucking around about his business. I made a comment before I looked up and BAM ... dude in war paint and holy HOT! I didn't make eye contact after that. I mentioned I thought the board was seriously cool, and he said "I give lessons" /gulp. I said I wasn't into breaking bones anymore but the board was quite nostalgic to me. He offered again this lesson thing. While it was bad to stare like we did and giggle out of the store like teeny boppers saying "Oh my god was he not sooo cute????" , it was quite elating. flattering, to be flirted with. Shhh... don't tell Mr. Morgan, he's forgotten his wife can still be attractive, and while beyond faithful.... madly wild for skaters and just seeing him twirling the board in idleness, my eyes danced. I miss that I actually once could do that, better than most of the boys no less. /sizzle.