3:34 p.m. - 2005-10-26
Probate attorneys!
I am so freaking sick of my job. I'm tired of the work, the customers, the people, everything about it. Lately I've felt like I'm hanging by one hand over the side of a rocky cliff. Below me a swirling vortex of hate, madness, depression, anxiety.. Just waiting for that one slip up, fingers scrabbling desperately over unrelenting rocks. Biting into my flesh, drawing blood. And I'm unsure if hanging on is better than the fall.
How fucking melodramatic is that?
In other news fronts: I HATE PROBATE ATTORNEYS!!! I hate mine so emphatically that I'm going to call his office and scream: All of my goddamned family is dead! They've all been dead for a long time! The last one keeled over just this past summer! So give me my goddamned inheritance already! It's my guilt money! My fucking white bread disfunctional version of REPARATIONS!!!! That's what the fuck I just said. R E P A R A T I O N S !!! I deserve that fucking money because it's the only legacy left to me from my dead fucking parents, my dead fucking uncle, my dead fucking grandparents. After years of hate, stress, worry, and both physical and mental abuse, I have nothing left to remember my family by except cold hard cash. And excuse the fuck out of my mercenary little heart for trying to be okay with that.
I'll try to dredge up some fond childhood memories that do not include a liquor bottle or screaming or someone telling me I'm the reason behind all that is fucked up in this world once I get PAID mutha fucka!
Okay, after that I'm not entirely sure that the whole work-thing is the reason for my recent bout of depression.
I'll have to ponder that for a while. Let's just close this entry with: "That girl's got more issues than the National Geographic aisle in the local library."
It's Wednesday and I'm too fucking stressed to go hump something.
Kill all the probate attorneys!!
