So yeah, I'm not going back to the hospital this year. I refuse. If I get hit by a bus, bring the doctor to the street and have them operate there. Horrible disease? Too bad. And no matter how much I love someone, if they get hurt/sick, I simply will not go to the hospital to see them. Wheel them out to the front yard. Because I am seriously sick of hospitals and doctors and injury and drama. My brother was torturing the living fuck out of our dog, and our dog bit him [it was my brother's fault - you do not JUMP on a dog, or step on its tail, particularly when the dog is fairly nervous].
Also, I went to the library and got a card, because I can't afford to buy any more books until I get a job, and nobody is getting back to me because the universe is a sick, twisted bitch-monster. And my library sucks. So. Much. It was painful, and I left feeling angry and frustrated and vaguely unclean.
What else is making me angry? Um... I'm sick of lawyers. No more doctors or lawyers. No more professionals in my life. And no more family drama. Stop foreclosures, stop abuse, stop DYING, stop restraining orders, stop nervous breakdowns and everyone leave me the fuck alone. I'm not kidding. This is my summer. The phone rings at eight or nine, the drama begins, and the phone keeps ringing until around ten at night, at which point I am begging my parents to unplug the phone. It's ridiculous. It's like Jerry Springer gone suburban.
I hate that my friends are all far away, and I'm stuck here in Jersey with nothing to do but apply for jobs and deal with the never-ending onslaught on near-comical drama. I mean, seriously. If I pitched this story to someone, they'd say it was too unrealistic. That's not FAIR, man.
In other news, I really want to see TROPIC THUNDER, Pie is the greatest thing since sliced bread [which she invented], and I've written 409 pages. It's awful and incoherent, and I suspect the whole story kind of blows chunks, but it's MY awful, incoherent story, and like the mother of a hideous child, I love it anyway.
Seriously. Fuck you, 2008. You smug, controlling bastard.
- LV
Also, I went to the library and got a card, because I can't afford to buy any more books until I get a job, and nobody is getting back to me because the universe is a sick, twisted bitch-monster. And my library sucks. So. Much. It was painful, and I left feeling angry and frustrated and vaguely unclean.
What else is making me angry? Um... I'm sick of lawyers. No more doctors or lawyers. No more professionals in my life. And no more family drama. Stop foreclosures, stop abuse, stop DYING, stop restraining orders, stop nervous breakdowns and everyone leave me the fuck alone. I'm not kidding. This is my summer. The phone rings at eight or nine, the drama begins, and the phone keeps ringing until around ten at night, at which point I am begging my parents to unplug the phone. It's ridiculous. It's like Jerry Springer gone suburban.
I hate that my friends are all far away, and I'm stuck here in Jersey with nothing to do but apply for jobs and deal with the never-ending onslaught on near-comical drama. I mean, seriously. If I pitched this story to someone, they'd say it was too unrealistic. That's not FAIR, man.
In other news, I really want to see TROPIC THUNDER, Pie is the greatest thing since sliced bread [which she invented], and I've written 409 pages. It's awful and incoherent, and I suspect the whole story kind of blows chunks, but it's MY awful, incoherent story, and like the mother of a hideous child, I love it anyway.
Seriously. Fuck you, 2008. You smug, controlling bastard.
- LV
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