Post with 5 notes
You know the kind.
You stir into blurry consciousness and stare at the ceiling and it just looks wrong. Your pillow whispers to you repeatedly that you didn’t get enough sleep and you should really stay here for another three hours.
And, hell’s bells, do you want to.
But you don’t because the system demands that you be at least semi-productive today. Gods forbid you have a weekday to yourself. And besides, the alarm clock has been buzzing for the past 45 minutes anyway.
So you wrench yourself forcibly from your bed, take a luke-warm shower because the damn water heater is on the fritz again, throw on clothes that you hate because you forgot to do laundry yesterday, get your things together (well, most of your things; on a day like this you will always, invariably forget something), rush out the door to your vehicle and thrust yourself hastily into today’s thirty-minute delay.
Oh, and did I mention that you only have 15 minutes left until your shift starts?
So, you arrive to work late and make some lame excuse to your asshole boss whom caught you trying to sneak in without being seen. He chews you out, which is a great way to prepare for the usual, daily shit-shoveling. On any normal day, you’d be able to handle the monotony, the automatons you call coworkers, your dick-faced manager and that godforsaken printer that seems to eat only your documents.
But this isn’t any normal day, remember?
You don’t want to deal with this crap. They couldn’t pay you enough. You just want to trash your workstation, slap your coworkers, tell your boss to eat a big bag of dicks, smash that fucking printer with a crowbar, go home and drink yourself into a stupor.
And by golly, you should.
But despite your natural urges to give your horrible situation exactly what it deserves, you maintain control and manage to do only just enough work to keep the boss off your ass.
The day crawls sluggishly onwards. Lunch time. Finally, a break. Except, you just remembered what it was you forgot on your way out the door:
Your only salvation is a pop tart from the vending machine that you were lucky to find just enough change for after rifling through your desk for twenty minutes. Hey, it’s better than starving, right?
Your brief respite is ended and you drag your feet all the way back to your desk. The hours march on like prisoners of war: reluctant, but resolved lest they be skewered. Your blood sugar gets low and you begin to nod off. You snap awake just in time for the boss to stalk past your workstation and give you the eye. You excuse yourself to the restroom and lock yourself in the stall with your head in your hands.
Just one more hour, you pray. Please, just let me survive for just one more hour.
Maybe you punch the wall a few times on the way out of the restroom to keep yourself awake. Whatever, I’m not judging.
You make it through the last hour and rush to your vehicle just in time to thrust yourself back into rush hour traffic. You don’t even have the energy to be pissed at the dumb cunt what just cut you off because she was too busy sexting her boyfriend.
You don’t care anymore. You just want it to be over.
After another hour, you finally make it home and immediately dive head first into a bottle of whiskey. Or gin. Or vodka, whatever blows your skirt up. You spend the rest of the night drunkenly ignoring phone calls and watching whatever sex-and-violence filled movies happen to be on TV. And as your consciousness gradually fades, you think to yourself:
Tomorrow will be better.
It has to be.
Post with 1 note
Self-pity blogs really make me sad. The power is within you to better yourself whether you realize it or not. If you’re not happy, get up and do something about it. Posting depressing sayings and pictures doesn’t help. It only perpetuates the bad thoughts you’re having. Go out and see the sun, go for a walk, eat something healthy, read a good book, go see a good friend, do whatever you think might possibly make your day less miserable. Because if you don’t, you’re going to be miserable for the rest of your existence. No one wants that and if you think you do, you’re wrong.
I can’t find my commonplace book. Fuck, fuck, fuck!
My muse is pitching a fit. D:
I apologize in advance for judging you; I’ve never met you and I don’t know who you are, but just the way you walk down the aisle in your disgusting Hawaiian shirt, eyes plastered to your phone as you make your way to the door, makes me hope with all the potency of the Nine Hells that you get creamed by a fork truck that you didn’t see in front of you just because you were too busy being absorbed in your own little world while walking through a potentially dangerous workplace.
Post with 2 notes
It has occurred to me
While passing my time
Trapped in gridlock
That the human race
Is gravely threatened
I humbly ask all of you
To do your part
To better the human condition
And to make this world
A more peaceful
And beautiful place:
That isn’t so hard, right?