I am so frustrated today.
For one, there is a forty thousand-dollar waste of space sitting right behind me. The assistant manager does nothing but eat and spew bullshit all day long. I have no honest clue as to what his actual job description includes, since all I ever see is breakfast and talking on his cellphone. He needs to be fired already. The office would be quieter and it would be so much easier to concentrate.
For two, my new job is okay, but hectic. There's so much paperwork, so much minute detail. If I had an office, this would not be a problem. But I don't, and since I'm around (and competent), I get hit with all manners of dispatch problems and all of the chaos that comes with them. It's start and stop, start and stop. This is very difficult when your job requires you to be detail oriented. There are always too many loud people in the office, cramming into a too-small space and generally making me crazy. I just want ten minutes of quiet.
Is it Friday yet? I am so stressed out that I just want to hit something.
(How very Buffy of me.)
My other stress is a sixteen year-old who swears like like a sailor. Andrea has turned into such a little klepto-- every week, I have to search out things that she's stolen from me over the weekend. Clothes, makeup, etc... stuff that if she just asked to borrow, it wouldn't be an issue. But no. She steals, then gets incredibly nasty, claiming that they're hers, always conveniently given to her by a friend. It's such bullshit. I know it, and my parents know it, but somehow, I'm being make out as the whiny, overly-sensitive baby. Not only that, but she's being openly insulting-- "this isn't your shirt. Like you could fit into my clothes!" That kind of thing. Luckily, I have a very good memory, and I remember labels. I've been able to prove that most of the clothes are mine. Everything else is a bit harder. My mother wants to know why I just don't label all of my things in permanent marker. The answer is simple: I shouldn't have to.
Anybody have advice for dealing with Teen Bitch? I'm going to demand a lock, as a tenant. I just have to make my mother a key so she can feed my fish when I'm away. I'm so tired of this.
I feel like I have the same, predictable conversations over and over again. Expected. Perfunctory. It's all just talk, filler. Nothing is ever said.
On a positive note, Happy Birthday,
belladonnastrap!!
For one, there is a forty thousand-dollar waste of space sitting right behind me. The assistant manager does nothing but eat and spew bullshit all day long. I have no honest clue as to what his actual job description includes, since all I ever see is breakfast and talking on his cellphone. He needs to be fired already. The office would be quieter and it would be so much easier to concentrate.
For two, my new job is okay, but hectic. There's so much paperwork, so much minute detail. If I had an office, this would not be a problem. But I don't, and since I'm around (and competent), I get hit with all manners of dispatch problems and all of the chaos that comes with them. It's start and stop, start and stop. This is very difficult when your job requires you to be detail oriented. There are always too many loud people in the office, cramming into a too-small space and generally making me crazy. I just want ten minutes of quiet.
Is it Friday yet? I am so stressed out that I just want to hit something.
(How very Buffy of me.)
My other stress is a sixteen year-old who swears like like a sailor. Andrea has turned into such a little klepto-- every week, I have to search out things that she's stolen from me over the weekend. Clothes, makeup, etc... stuff that if she just asked to borrow, it wouldn't be an issue. But no. She steals, then gets incredibly nasty, claiming that they're hers, always conveniently given to her by a friend. It's such bullshit. I know it, and my parents know it, but somehow, I'm being make out as the whiny, overly-sensitive baby. Not only that, but she's being openly insulting-- "this isn't your shirt. Like you could fit into my clothes!" That kind of thing. Luckily, I have a very good memory, and I remember labels. I've been able to prove that most of the clothes are mine. Everything else is a bit harder. My mother wants to know why I just don't label all of my things in permanent marker. The answer is simple: I shouldn't have to.
Anybody have advice for dealing with Teen Bitch? I'm going to demand a lock, as a tenant. I just have to make my mother a key so she can feed my fish when I'm away. I'm so tired of this.
I feel like I have the same, predictable conversations over and over again. Expected. Perfunctory. It's all just talk, filler. Nothing is ever said.
On a positive note, Happy Birthday,
belladonnastrap!!