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I need an exit.

And not just in a Matrix-esque sense. Two and a half days in and I really no longer think coming back was good idea save for the money. The booze is helps mollify that but the wine was last night and the vodka the night before that. Tonight, I'm dry. Today has made me want to get back in the damn car and drive the fuck away from here back to Staffs. I can't fucking deal with this much longer.

Jobs. That's all I've heard today. Job this, job that, job the fucking other. What did I tell them on Friday? I'm not thinking about that. I'm waiting till I graduate before devoting any of my ideaspace to that concept. Which would have been great had they actually heard what I was saying rather than waiting for their turn to speak, going on about what field was I looking to go into, where am I looking at getting a job, how long am I expecting to wait, what kind of company


I. Fucking. Told. Them. This. Already. They know all that I know. Everything. Questioning me incessantly is only going to piss me off. They know this as well. They still asked and asked and presented their bullshit opinions like they meant something. Why don't I go work for one of these companies like $KNOWN_SPAMMER? Because I am not going to sell myself out. What if it's the only job going? I sign on with the fucking dole. I am not a whore to the need to have a job. Unlike the rest of my family, which sees getting and having a job as the one and only thing that matters in life, I couldn't give a shit. A job is incidental to my life, not the one thing that must be. That they do not realise this makes me want to rip out their black corporate whore hearts and fry them up in garlic.

Jobs are nothing to me. I don't care what I end up doing, really I don't. As long as I'm not doing something stifling, that destroys my creativity, I'm fine. That's why I lasted a day in the cucumber packing place. I couldn't hear myself think let alone talk to people or hear the radio that was supposedly playing. Couldn't think. Couldn't create. Boom. I was going insane there. Add in a fucking ignorant boss that treat us lower than pond scum, complaining about his computer and then saying "Piss off, you're too thick to fix it" when I explained I might be able to help. I hate that. Stupid, ignorant people preferring to remain stupid and ignorant rather than learning from someone that knows better. Someone that puts their brain to a situation because that's all he has, on account of being a skinny bastard with no muscle. I'm not a lunkhead, and if the world would fuck off and realise that that means I'm maybe worth listening to once in a while I'd be happy. Fuckwits, I curse them all. Be cursed, you filthy, disease-ridden weasels! Be cursed and cast out from this world by your own ignorance and unwillingness to learn!

In other news, I'm getting rather narked[1] about the lack of privacy here. I doubt any of you have this problem, but there are two lockable doors in this house. The front door and the back door. I've already had to call out five times as I've been on the bog and one of @PARENTS has forgotten I'm home. No lock on my room either. Nowhere I can get out of the way of said array without the chance of them or my brother (on the off chance he might be home for more than one hour these next two weeks) barging in on me wherever I am. I need to go out tomorrow and convince @PARENTS of the joy of locks.

Other thoughts... I was watching TV aimlessly earlier, having managed to get out of the way of the decorating going on. I caught an episode of the old X-Men cartoon[2]. Not as good as Evolution, but hell, it was worth it for something. Some of the aircraft designs are damn nice, make me want to get working on my Shock game. Hoppers, hovercraft, aircraft, jets... the police are going to end up with Power Projects tactical assault suits if I can at all wangle it. I likes me my power armour. Then again, I look around at the stifling, boring crap I have to put up with here at home and I have to ask if I could have survived without escaping into fantasy worlds. Probably not.

Oh, and I've been told I should go waste two days doing odd jobs for my grandparents. For free. Because @PANTHEON forbid someone that earns money for working normally spend some time they ain't getting paid for doing crap work when I can waste time that would otherwise only be doing much-needed work that I don't get paid a single penny for but that needs doing so that I can pass this fucking degree. Bah.

[1]: There's an `r' in there. Though I may occasionally write these missives in the buff, I don't tend to advertise it... unless, of course, I'm aiming to pique the interest of the straight-female-or-benny part of my readership and the disgust of the rest.
[2]: The Phalanx Covenant, 1&2


( 6 informants — We want information! )
Apr. 13th, 2003 03:59 pm (UTC)
John Stuart Mill said it best
When you get old, you get possessive, (especially when in the thrall of a job.) thus preventing the more noble feelings to be expressed.

That is a translation at least.

My folks were the same way Stew. Don't worry man, when they get really old they will realize all of their futile money grubbing, and visions of success don't mean dick. Stick with your guns, and go do what you know is right, fuck the rest. I have a job, and yes, there is a dickhead boss at the top. He has no idea what is going on, and his mission in life is to "make more business for the firm". I work in bankruptcy law, I deal with people who go broke, and this fucker can only think about how to leech more out of them.

Dickbrains - this is why I am now an English major - fuck business. I am not turning into something like Lance[1].

[1]Lance = The boss from hell.
Apr. 13th, 2003 04:17 pm (UTC)
Oh, I know how you feel, Stew. At least to a point. I live with my father who keeps insisting that I get a job to help out with expenses. I don't want to think about a job until I'm out of college, too. I had one for a semester, and I absolutely hated it. Granted, it was a crappy job, but still.

Yet there's my dad, and whenever he gets in a bad mood especially, he lays in on both Gayle and I about getting a job to help out with the place. Gayle doesn't want to because she believes that the kids need to see their parents at some point in time. Then, with me, he flips between "get a job" and "it'll be far too problematic if I have to start taking money from your job." He doesn't want to have to rely on money I get. As it is, I do help to support the people here as much as I possibly can. I do get Financial Aid to help with things. But when I say I help, it's basically "that means nothing, it's not enough". Yay... Nice to know that, when I try to help, it means nothing. Talk about feeling useless. And it doesn't help that he has that "Piss off, you're too thick to fix it" attitude towards me as well when I'm trying to help with something that doesn't require money...

But it passes. Soon you'll be away from it, whether you leave early or not. Hang in there and I hope you feel better.

"The darkness takes people"
Apr. 13th, 2003 06:24 pm (UTC)
I know what you mean. I went back to live with my old man [1] for a few months when I got back from where I'd been attending Uni, four and a half years ago. He terrorised the fuck out of me until I got a job. As if I wasn't already depressed enough about being on the dole, he'd ride me every day about being fat and lazy, and would send me out in the middle of the day in the middle of the Australian fucking Summer for four hours at a time to look for work.

[1] My old man is, like, a signature character for the Verbena. He's smart enough, but he's such a fucking Nazi. He's half the reason we're leaving the state next year.
Apr. 13th, 2003 10:23 pm (UTC)
...now is not the time to encourage my dad on his vestigal thoughts of trying to get a job for you where he works, my mom works, and where I had all my summer internships, eh? *wry grin* The Fambly Influence can work wonders, y'know what I'm sayin'? *winks*

But seriously, love, I'm sure it'll all work out. Just tune them out for a few more months, that's all we have left of school...
Apr. 13th, 2003 10:50 pm (UTC)
Mmmm, black corporate whore hearts... fried in garlic, no less... yummmm...
Apr. 16th, 2003 09:51 am (UTC)
>> rip out their black corporate whore hearts and fry them up in garlic.<<

What is that hole in my chest, and why do I smell something cooking?

Who really isn't proud of being a corporate whore.
( 6 informants — We want information! )



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