I’m having a bad week. I’ve been having a bad time. I’m not sure when or how this actually started, but I’m not enjoying myself very much at the moment. Come to think of it, I’m not enjoying much at all right now.
I think this really rose to the surface yesterday after I walked past the scene of a tragic accident — yet again. This happened twice in exactly one month. So there are traffic-related accidents every day. I get it. It’s just that now, I’ve got the image of blood trickling down a dead man’s foot in my mind to go with the pool of blood on the sidewalk at 13th and Walnut.
It’s not enough that I envision myself getting decapitated or otherwise killed/slaughtered by the most trivial things (a tree, a rock, a flying piece of…thing) with every step I take (literally; I don’t walk/run down the stairs without seeing myself tumble down and knock all of my teeth out, or start crossing the street without seeing a speeding car take my leg away).
And as I typed that last sentence, the fire alarm in the building went off, making me go from one cold place to another (outside).
I don’t know if that makes me morbid or just very much aware of my own mortality. In the meantime, I might lose my hands to frostbite if I keep typing.
I think I’m starting to PMS, too. Great timing indeed.
Today sucked from start to finish. I woke up about one hour early because some asshole was jackhammering the shit out of my street–right in front of my house. My jeans fit funny. I tried to make an appointment with the ophthalmologist and was put on hold three consecutive times, only to be told that they’d have to call me back because they were “too busy.” They didn’t call back. During my second call, I was put on hold once and then was told that they couldn’t accept my referral for a contact lens fitting. My lunch hour got reduced to a half hour because of work. The chicken Caesar wrap I had for lunch tasted awful. My combination lock refused to open. I got a stomach cramp while I was working out and wasn’t able to finish my thirty-minute cardio. I went to Macy’s with my mom, thinking that all she wanted to get was a scarf and a pair of pantyhose; she took fucking forever to pick out BABY CLOTHES for this pregnant woman at her job. The fucking ORGAN started playing extremely loudly and it sounded like shit. This resulted in a terrible headache that refused to go away until we got home. One of my mom’s friends in California was supposed to mail us some photos she had of us during our first trip to the USA; the envelope arrived, the photos didn’t–because whoever fucking mailed them was too STUPID to seal the envelope correctly, i.e. PEEL THE BACK OF THE FUCKING FLAP TO EXPOSE THE ADHESIVE BAND. Result? Mom and I have x pictures of us wandering around the country somewhere. FUCK.
The one thing I’d like to mention outside of this time line is that, between my two phone calls to the ophthalmologist’s office, I was SHUSHED during my bitch session at work. I was shushed by a woman who talks ten times more than I do, and significantly louder than I do. What the shit? I don’t care who you are, and I don’t care how nice you are; If I am visibly pissed off and bitching about the reason why I’m in such a foul motherfucking mood, you do not shush me. DO NOT SHUSH ME. Especially not you.
“Stupid” is a good word.
You know what kills a good rant? Misspelled words. No matter how insightful or eloquently written a rant may be, a single misspelling is enough to make me lose interest. I’m not talking about typos (though people should really proofread themselves); I’m talking about regularly misspelled words, like “definately” and “blatent” and “sulphor”… I mean, really–it’s like giving a great speech and throwing in the word “nucular.”*
Maybe I’m too picky, but I never understood poor spelling.
I have trouble understanding bad handwritings, too (no pun intended). Some people’s handwritings make them look like they’re twelve. Come to think of it, people’s handwritings are quite often a direct reflection of their personalities. Well then… I suppose that explains a lot.
I’m really sick of people blasting music in their cars. I don’t get it; what’s so cool about sitting in a tiny space and having your eardrums hammered by excruciatingly high decibels? Doesn’t it hurt? It hurts even me and I’m sitting in my room, far away from that piece of shit you call a car. I like reggaeton, but at that volume it’s anything BUT pleasant.
It’s also not cool to do it at 8AM. Maybe you should start using Q-Tips.
I think I have bad luck this year; that or the world doesn’t want me to see. After that month-long battle to get my glasses (which I actually never got; I demanded my money back instead–but that’s a whole ‘nother rant, and it’s over so I’ll spare you the details), I’m dealing with my contact lens order that I placed over a month ago and still haven’t received. I’m talking about two different businesses here; so I’m not sure if it’s sheer incompetence, or if there’s a conspiracy of some kind. If the world really doesn’t want me to see…well I suppose I wasted my time learning American Sign Language.
And that just stinks.
* I am not hereby declaring my appreciation for GWB’s speeches; I’m just using his blunder to express the idea that such a mistake can ruin any address, no matter how eloquent–something that his speeches never were.