02.07.01 - 11:16:37

i am not a happy girl. i'm probably not even a girl anymore, though even eighteen year old HBD (human barbie doll. indicative of too-blonde hair, too-long eyelashes, and too-impossible breasts.)waitresses seem inclined to call me sweetheart.

i am certain i'm not their sweetheart. i'm pretty damned certain i'm no one's sweetheart, especially when i'm grumpy. and i'm grumpy right now.

1. my toe bleeds every time i walk. because part of the toe that should be covered by a toenail is no longer covered by a toenail, and believe me, it hurts. maybe i have a low tolerance for pain. maybe pointy-toed girl shoes really REALLY exacerbate the pain.

i actually decided not to go to the grocery store (which has a department store attached to it, sorta) last night because i didn't want to walk around with my toe like this cos i wouldn't've enjoyed myself looking for a new coffeepot and maybe buying a new chenille blanket or something soft and richly colored to make me smile when it's dark and i feel less than happy.

i just stopped at the drug store and bought bandaids. for my toe. i've lived in my apartment for 1.5 years, and this is the first time i've needed bandaids. i got the expensive stretchy antiseptic antibiotic total comfort strip kind, and then i got a box of these cheaper, glittery, reflective bandaids that look like a hologram on acid.

guess which kind i'm wearing? (incidentally, i also bought a box of chocolates, which i forced myself to bring into work after eating the three good ones. and new nail polish which i did not apply. and. uhm. something else. batteries. for the remote control. which i forgot to buy the day before at k-mart.

2. i still don't have a key to this floor. which means i hafta ride to some other floor and walk up, or down, to my office, with my bleeding, painful toe. this did not bother me when i thought everyone had to walk, too, or at least some part of everyone else, but apparently, it's only me.

like. literally only me. the eighteen-year-old talkative little annoying thing who comes in to print files off microfiche three days a week has a key. and i don't. and we don't have a coffee pot.

3. we still do not have a coffee pot. i'm the only one up here who drinks coffee. and i hafta go downstairs around in front of XXX's office, a senior member of the business section known for his anal retentive ways, to get coffee. which scares the socks off'a me. and my bleeding toe. and with my bleeding toe?

i spill coffee climbing the narrow, spiral stairs between the floors because i don't have a key.

4. so this morning, i drove through a fast food restaurant and ordered 'large coffee with cream' because i wanted a large coffee so i wouldn't need to go downstairs with a lid so i wouldn't spill it while climbing the narrow steps with my bleeding toe in my pointy stupid girl shoes.

and incidentally, i ordered a plain biscuit. since i was there. since i had not had breakfast, since they did not have a 'fruit cup' i could order. but i was there, i was really really there, just for that damn coffee WITH CREAM.

and i got coffee. and a bag. presumably, cream and la biscuit would be found therein. guess what? chica got coffee.

and no. damn. cream. i mean. that was the ONLY REASON I DID THAT. and they fucked it up! so i STILL had to go by XXX's office to get cream for my stupid COFFEE.

5. no one ever calls me back. no one in state government ever answers their damn phones. when they do answer, they say, 'oh. you should have called 555-5555.' and i say, 'uhm. duuuuuuuuuude. i DID call that number. it rang to you.'

6. the secretary leaves for lunch around 12:15. she comes back around 1:45. then she stays until 5:30, because she'll get paid extra for doing that. when she was paid to stay until 5:30, but could leave at 5:00 if all her work was done, she always left at 5:00. whether or not her work was done.

but maybe i'm just being nosey.

7. do not. put anything. in my damn chair. i have an inbox. when you walk into my office, you hafta walk RIGHT PAST the inbox to put something on my chair. why does anybody think they have anything so important that i should take care of it before i sit down and take the pressure off my pointily-shod bleeding big toe?!

because they don't! have anything! that important! when the inbox! is! right! there!

okay. maybe that was an overreaction.

8. i need blinds for my office. the sun is going to start shining into these windows soon. she's moving north every day.

9. uhm. been here 1.5 weeks. no sign of bookcases. no sign of the damn piece of my desk that was broken and would supposedly be fixed any goddamned day now. my telephone? is actually resting on the CPU of my computer, on the floor beside me.

and.

10. why is a small personal crisis of mine turned into some attack on someone else? why is the approach, 'you're neglecting me. you need to give me a date. you're a bad person because i don't know what you're doing.' after 1.5 weeks of neglect (1.5 weeks! like. is not long.) rather than, 'hey, you thinking about doing XYZ again? kinda miss you.'

oh. oooooooh yes. i let all that happen just to make your life a brief, personal misery. and i apologized, of course, and i even meant it. i had nooooo idea how the other person was framing events in his/her head, and there was no reason for me to assume all this. at least, i think there was no reason.

so i end up feeling like the guilty party, and, it seems, treated as such by whomever. yo. if i can apologize for my hysterics, own up that they were hysterics, why the fuck can't anyone else?

sometimes i feel like i'm floating in la-la-no-responsibility land. whatever we do, doesn't matter as long as we forget it a few days later, like. and everyone else does, too. we can just ignore it, and it never happened, or at least whatever happened isn't mentioned, which will make absolutely everything just fine. or, at least, fine enough.

and i'm not sure who's right? me, who wants something - even a hey, s'okay, you know? or an i'm sorry, we're cool now, right? - or everyone else, to whom it seems about as important as a fly upon a cow, occasionally irritating, but nothing to bother your cud about.

maybe i should just let it all go, but it's there. it's like a splinter. it gets infected. all that poison beneath the skin. and it hurts.

and what is cud, anyway. maybe we should give 'em bubblegum