No, really, I'm really going to rant this blog. I don't usually like to include vulgar terms, but I don't know that I'll be able to stop this time. Read on at your own risk.
I hate Bart Smith.
The stupid bastard probably has no idea what he has done to me this past week. Even worse, he most likely does not care.
He is the franchise owner of the Domino's Pizza I work for. He writes the checks. And my paycheck bounced. Among the other little goals that I had for that money that I wasn't able to accomplish, this occurrence sent me into a nasty depression. Every single fucking time I get depressed, it makes me doubt every single goal and dream that I aspire to. So now, after Bart's lovely escapade, I have to somehow get my head screwed on straight again, against every part of me that is screaming that I should just wallow in despair.
I realized today that I after this last hellish week, I don't want to even try for grad school. Damn this depression.
I know that's what I want, but have no drive to try for it. I get paid again tomorrow, and if that check bounces as well, I don't know what I'll do.
I'm pissed at Bart, but I'm pissed at myself too. I'm mad, and completely enervated.
And annoyed that every single time I try to make goals and start to accomplish them, actually do good things for myself, that something bad happens to throw me off track.
I really have problems with the divine equity of that track record.
Rant over, depression continues.
Behold, The Iron Fist...Yeah, the white guy.
2 months ago