Time for sleep
Aug. 21st, 2004 11:05 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
fredericksBack home. My room is really torn up. My own doing: I was searching like crazy for any remnant of my Social Security card. Futilely, as it turned out. Granny is now being watched by my aunt and her kin. All I have to watch is...myself, my laptop, my TV, and occasionally Krishna.
Mom's downstairs watching a movie. "Calendar Girls". The sort of flick I would pick up if I was feeling particularly uterine-y. Rarely ever. I felt bad that I didn't volunteer to watch it with her. She asked me to put it on for her and I did, leaving her downstairs with my father and a brother. Dad was all "What? I thought this was "Batwoman" [I'm fairly certain he meant *Cat*woman]. I don't want to watch this" as I was walking up the stairs. And I felt even worse. The woman gets so little time from us. And I so don't want to be married to a man like my father. Like, no. Insensitive prick. I missed him for maybe two minutes. Then he had to open his mouth.
Tomorrow's my last day at the Shack. Not torn up about it. Said my goodbyes to the bulk of the crew yesterday, not thinking that I was on for today. When the manager asked if I wanted to come in for a few hours, though, I said sure. I would have liked a Saturday off, but I need the money. I'm down to almost nothing here, and I have a phone bill and loans to pay off in about a week and a half. One of my coworkers made me awful uncomfortable when he said that he told his wife that he liked me. And like like, not just like. I mean, the fuck?? He told me and another worker this yesterday, and I don't think I've been able to say two sentences to him since. It was one reason why I was hesitant to come into work today. I'm supposed to get breakfast tomorrow morning with a fellow worker. Let's see if she stands me up again or not.
There's something about sitting here in the dark with "The Four Seasons" playing in my ear that's making me real melancholy. And tired. Weary. And like a real loser. It's Saturday night and I'm sitting at home in my nightgown (nightgown? you believe that one?) listening to classical by myself. If that's not enough to make a gal cry I don't know what is.
Mom's downstairs watching a movie. "Calendar Girls". The sort of flick I would pick up if I was feeling particularly uterine-y. Rarely ever. I felt bad that I didn't volunteer to watch it with her. She asked me to put it on for her and I did, leaving her downstairs with my father and a brother. Dad was all "What? I thought this was "Batwoman" [I'm fairly certain he meant *Cat*woman]. I don't want to watch this" as I was walking up the stairs. And I felt even worse. The woman gets so little time from us. And I so don't want to be married to a man like my father. Like, no. Insensitive prick. I missed him for maybe two minutes. Then he had to open his mouth.
Tomorrow's my last day at the Shack. Not torn up about it. Said my goodbyes to the bulk of the crew yesterday, not thinking that I was on for today. When the manager asked if I wanted to come in for a few hours, though, I said sure. I would have liked a Saturday off, but I need the money. I'm down to almost nothing here, and I have a phone bill and loans to pay off in about a week and a half. One of my coworkers made me awful uncomfortable when he said that he told his wife that he liked me. And like like, not just like. I mean, the fuck?? He told me and another worker this yesterday, and I don't think I've been able to say two sentences to him since. It was one reason why I was hesitant to come into work today. I'm supposed to get breakfast tomorrow morning with a fellow worker. Let's see if she stands me up again or not.
There's something about sitting here in the dark with "The Four Seasons" playing in my ear that's making me real melancholy. And tired. Weary. And like a real loser. It's Saturday night and I'm sitting at home in my nightgown (nightgown? you believe that one?) listening to classical by myself. If that's not enough to make a gal cry I don't know what is.
