I think the reason living with parents eventually becomes so unbearable is that while you are attempting to have respect for them as a parent and a person, they fail to understand that yes, you do count as a separate entity now, and therefore new rules need to be negotiated.

In short, the rule I wish to instate is: do not bitch to me about anything until my walking in the door after work is at least thirty minutes ago, because when I just walk in the door? I do not, in fact, give a flying fuck about your opinion on how my room should be.

---

Yeah, and every time I try to bring this to her attention she treats me like I'm an oh-so-cute five year old trying to be a big girl. Fuck. Off. I am this close to calling my mother a cunt to her face and I do not like that word.

So in short, alleyne, yeah, that email/note re. figures would be lovely.

---

[EDIT] aaaaaaaaaauuuuuuuugheryeayrgehfjagsdfjagsdfksdfgsafhjasfgshdjfgs *just fucking screams into her pillow*

So, okay, you have a full time job. At the moment? SO DO I. And I'm still trying to catch up with family whom I HAVEN'T SEEN FOR MORE THAN THREE HOURS AT A TIME IN THE LAST SIX MONTHS, IF NOT LONGER. And you know what? I do not stop at the full time job. I am trying to be productive on OTHER SHIT and TAKE A GUESS HOW MANY HOURS OF SLEEP I HAVE HAD IN THE LAST MONTH with which to do that on. Guess how many WORKING HANDS I have to try to not get myself fucking fired on three fucking hours of fucking sleep when I am having great difficulty standing upright and keeping myself mobile and cheerful so that people will fucking buy from me.

But of course, you don't shut your FUCKING MOUTH for thirty seconds to listen to any kind of fucking reason - and it's never a 'reason' it's always an 'excuse'. Yeah, because that's what mature adults do - deny every fucking thing that anyone else tries to say.

Here is what doesn't help:

MUM: DID YOU EAT ALL THE ICE CREAM IN TWO DAYS.



1) It was not all the ice cream, it was half the ice cream, aka 500mL.
2) It was four days.
3) I am stressed. I have spent the last three days wanting to curl into a corner and never move again. I am allowed to eat ice cream.

In other news: still want to curl up and die. Was feeling okay for about ten minutes after dinner, there, but then I was interrupted about twelve times in ten minutes and theeeeeeere's the bad mood and block monster back with a vengeance. Ffffffffffffffffffffffffffff.

- I am the queen of all that is organisation.
- ...but I fucking refuse to deal with that entire fucking fridge by myself because your day staff can't put boxes down so that the glass bottles inside them do not break.
- ...so you and all your fourteen-year-old bitches can get down on your knees and just suck my imaginary cock.
- YOU KNOW WHO YOU ARE.

And then I watched maybe forty-five minutes of the opening ceremony and then I said FUCK YOU, OLYMPICS, YOU WILL BE REPLAYED AD NAUSEUM FOR A FORTNIGHT ANYWAY, and came down to chill in front of my computer and tell myself that I should sleep, without actually sleeping.

Tomorrow I wish to:
- clean my room
- wash my sheets
- decide on an OzLit essay topic
- get up before 10am
- write at least 2k of Project
- make more kanji cards
- bring an end to the House of Miekus, and possibly also the House of Wilkes

Well, no. Tomorrow I actually wish to sleep until the next day, and then continue sleeping until my clothes become part of my skin and I become permanently fused with my bed and am some strange variation on that dragon wall in the Temple of the Ancients. But you know what they say about wishes and horses, and the twins are insisting that they say something different, and oh, sweet lord, I do not want to know.

Luke: I'll give you fifty dollars cash in hand if you come serve on registers for an hour.
Me: Are you fucking serious.
Luke: Yes, I have no one, I have (blah blah the usual litany of woes that are all his fault)--
Me: Yeah. Whatever. I'll come over.
Luke: Just at five.
Me: Yep. Fine. I'll see you then.
Luke: I know you're not well, but I just--
Me: Yes. Fine. I'll see you then.
Luke: *finally catching on that I am a little annoyed at him* ...is that all right?
Me: It's fine, Luke. I can just hardly curl my fingers around the phone, is all, so I feel kind of fucking stupid being paid when I'm useless.
Luke: I know, but--
Me: Yes. I know. I'll see you at five.

And I do feel useless. And it's not about the money. And it won't just be for an hour. But it has to be, because my brother is here tonight and mum is going out, and I swear to god I will leave the register fucking unattended if I have to. All this because he's not sure if Hannah will turn up. THEN HIRE PEOPLE WHO ARE NOT HANNAH. FUCK.

I spent from 3pm until 9pm in the deli, and then ran around trying to fix things until 10pm. There were no food breaks. There were no toilet breaks. It was fucking busy, and despite this we made $13.4k. This is what we call shitty. Also, we lost the fucking keys, and half the DVDs, and some fucker came in at five to ten and said, blithely, "Is it too late to get sliced prosciutto?"

Me: Um, there might be some on the bottom shelf of that fridge, but I can't slice any for you.
Her: Oh. *looking* But it's not the same price.
Me: Sorry, it must be a different kind.
Her: Oh. *clearly hoping I will relent and slice something for her*
Me: Yeah, sorry about that. *goes to turn off the lights*

Seriously. I cleaned the fucking slicer today; there is no way that shit is happening five minutes before close when I haven't eaten anything and my wrist feels like it's broken. Have some fucking courtesy, people! We are open from six-thirty in the morning! THERE IS A TWELVE HOUR WINDOW DURING WHICH WE CAN SLICE PROSCIUTTO FOR YOU.

I think I got very grumpy at Luke when he asked me what was wrong. I do not remember what I said. I think it was something along the lines of, I'm tired and my wrists are sore. I sincerely hope it was not something like, get your fucking face out of the fucking way you fucker where the fuck are the keys last fucking favour I do you can suck my imaginary cock. Because I caught myself muttering about fucking people sideways with the Venus Gospel at several points during the evening, and cannot imagine my control when actually incensed is anything to write home about.

So. Today I have consumed:
- one chicken and salad roll
- one vegetable samosa
- four Mrs Fields cookies
- one can of coke
- two cups of tea
- about five hundred three Nurofen

ALL DAY. Ravie is not at her most cheerful when she is hungry and covered in fucking oil. I DO NOT MEAN THE FUN KIND OF FUCKING OIL.

(Speaking of which, Mum's Friend And Definitely Not Boyfriend Chris is over again. He is a lovely boy. I wandered in swearing, and he and mum said hello, and he asked me how I was, and was not offended when I broke off mid-rant at my mother to say, "HI CHRIS :D I'M GOOD" and then promptly went back to ranting. XD I REALISE THIS MAY NOT HAVE BEEN THE MOST CONVINCING WAY TO ANSWER THAT QUESTION. In any case, he is a lovely boy. I should not call him a boy when he is at best fifteen years my senior.)

I am listening to Elbow, now, and it will all be all right as long as the pain/numbness in my wrists/hands doesn't keep me awake, and I can calm down sufficiently in the next hour or so to get myself to sleep. I never want to work the fucking deli again, but I think I did a better job of it than half the new kids, so I cannot see this becoming a reality. |D;

Actually appropriate on many levels, as my mother made date cake this evening in between bar-hopping and going on long walks. I did have to work with fucking Luke, of course, after laughing all afternoon over how it wasn't even possible. You know the hilarious thing? The first thing he says to me tonight is, "Oh, hi. We didn't get much stock done today because I only had three people on all day."

And you didn't get much stock done? With only three people? On a Saturday, which from the look of sales was actually slower than it was on my Friday night shift? IMAGINE THAT! Funny how it takes more than three people to get stock done, isn't it! You hypocritical bastard. *chk-BLAM*

Anyway, for narnizzle and all the rest of you who did not get it last time:
GLaDOS - STILL ALIVE:
http://www.box.net/shared/enxwhirk0c

DOWNLOAD IT. It is epic and hilarious and probably makes more sense if you know something about Portal. Also, speaks to my mood about the entire work thing. XD Psychotic computer systems. You must love them. Or at least sing along.

[EDIT]

Just as a point of interest, I have this. Unilateral, as far as I can tell, but it's been getting worse as I get older - it used to only happen when I get tired, but I think now I'm tired a greater percentage of the time, which is the reason that it happens more often. Sadly I am squint-eyed and not skew-eyed, or I would gleefully cosplay Felix.

It's only slight, so it's not like it's of major cosmetic panic, but one thing I have noticed is that while my left eye is the eye that turns inward, it also sees better than the right eye - I mean, if I cover the right eye, the left can see clearly and can focus with little difficulty. If I cover the left eye, though, the right has considerably more trouble - things appear.... not quite blurred, but there is a definite sense that surfaces aren't matching up. That doesn't happen with the left eye. It might just be because I rely more heavily on the right eye, since the left is fucky, but either way, it's probably something I should have looked at at some point. The last thing I need is to be the crazy cock-eyed cat lady at eighty. XD