hogwarts gone wild

HELLO, LIFE? I QUIT YOU.

- I'm one third of the way through a fic that should've been finished two days ago. I'm one third of the way through, and I am stuck like a stuck thing. I cannot move forward, I cannot goad the characters into dialogue anywhere near IC, and I'm terrified to backtrack, because yeah. Should've been finished two days ago.

- My mobile bill this month is astronomical. No, really. While I do not recall using it for anything extraordinary, the amount due suggests that I've been phoning outer space. Frequently, and for extended lengths of time.

- I just stopped by work to check on next week's schedule, only to discover that I've been given a closing shift on Christmas Eve. Considering I am the only person on the shop's payroll with child, I am very close to gnawing on the furniture in a fit of rage. Nineteen year-old pothead underachievers living with their parents on all sides, and they schedule me for a closing shift on Christmas Eve.

WAY TO FUCKING PRIORITISE, YOU UTTER FUCKING FUCKWITS.

Assuming I do not murder my manager in his bed quit between now and then, I guess I am bringing my son and my Christmas tree to work with me on Monday. Because, you know, the conversation where I tell my son he's spending Christmas Eve with a babysitter? It's not going to happen.

NO, REALLY. IT ISN'T.

So, I checked my Yahoo!mail, as I am prone to do about weekly.

Amongst the spam and mailing-list digests, I had a message in my inbox, labeled UNDELIVERED MAIL RETURNED TO SENDER.

It was dated the 19^th. I was not on Yahoo on the 19^th. Today is the first time I have been on Yahoo in at least a week, if not longer.

Intrigued, I clicked.

It would seem that sometime on the 19^th, WHEN I WAS MOST CERTAINLY NOT SIGNED ON AND FIRING OFF EMAILS FROM YAHOO, I apparently sent an email with an attachment to wayfairer's LJ email. Livejournal refused to accept it, for unbeknownst reasons.

More intrigued, I clicked the attachment.

Which Yahoo informed me it could not download, because IT CONTAINED A FUCKING VIRUS.

I AM NOT AMUSED.

WHEN I FIND OUT WHO, WHAT, WHEN, HOW AND WHY, I WILL EAT YOUR FACE.

ETA: I have just been informed by dracorocksmysox that this some kind of scam that has happened to several people. While I feel better knowing my email account is not secretly spamming Aja with VIRUSES, still, it is NOT ON.

I should NOT have to plan my life around other people's neurosis.

Work was rancid.

I was livid before lunch, because of an altercation with a bitch from Verizon *customer service*. Then, after I got back from lunch, I had to photocopy a 700 page file, ONE SHEET OF PAPER AT A TIME, because the autofeed thingy has vague life-goals and no real sense of its career-path.


I just couldn't get anything done today. I worked, and worked and worked, but at the end of the day, I had accomplished very little. I was hamster-wheel style today, not matter what I did.

Of course, the photocopying bit took 2 fucking hours. If the autofeed thingy had been even quasi-operational, I could have periodically fed the machine chuncks of paper whilst I did other things.

The phone did not help, today, either. It did not ring too much today, but when it did, it was pointlessness. I took 4 bloody calls today from a FUCKING AUTOMATED VOICE-MACHINE TRYING TO HOCK CRUISE TICKETS!

We are an office. An office that takes care of the affairs of the old and mentally incompetent. Why, oh pale, waltzing gods, would we fucking want and/or need CRUISE TICKETS?

I believe I need a good, stiff drink.

The following is a rant, which will cover two completely different topics.

1. I am off at 5:00pm or You've had all day to make me do this shite

As the header says, I am off at five. Now, I am not normally pedantic about these kinds of things. Working until ten after is not that big of a deal. There has been plenty of times that I have been in the middle of something when the clock struck five, and kept working for a bit, because I did not want to stop in the middle and have to re-find my train of thought the next day.

This does not, however, mean that my superiors should contrive to keep me there past five.

After lunch, I had very little to do. In truth, I had *something* to do, but *something* require the use of a computer than someone else was on. So, I bided my time until five doing stuff that was not important, or overly dire-- stuff that could have easily waited until tomorrow, or next Tuesday.

Or September, for that matter.

But then, at TEN MINUTES TO FIVE, I suddenly have to send out a six page fax, BEFORE I LEAVE, on a fax machine that would insist you send the pages one at a time.

Not dial the number and feed six pages into the machine by hand, but dial the number, wait for it to connect, feed one page, dial the number again, wait for it to connect again, feed in the next page, et cetera, et cetera.

I would not have minded this kind of tedium, had I been assigned it during the two hours I was picking my ass straighting out the files to pass the time.

2. Drive, Bitch!, or Those Who Can't, Shouldn't

I get a lot of flack from my sisters/friends/family/whatever because I do not *drive* when I am driving. I operate my vehicle while smoking, talking on my phone, changing CD's, applying makeup, and eating drive-thru.

Usually all at the same time.

The difference between me and other people, however, is that I can smoke/phone/dee-jay/beautify/eat while driving and maintain a minimum speed of 75 without endangering the myself and others.

Sadly, I have noticed that other people cannot. Yet, they would insist on doing so-- swerving, driving on the wrong side of the road, and turtling along at 35 in the fastlane all the while.

Stop. It.

There is no reason for me to crawl along behind you because you find the bag of pretzels in your console too distracting to step on the fucking gas.

Thank you. That is all. You may now return you your regularly scheduled perving.

Alright, let me explain something to you, whomever called my house at 3:15 this morning, and left a lengthy diatribe on my machine about why I was not answering the phone at 3:15 in the morning.

Listen here. I QUIT MARCHING TWO YEARS AGO.

This also means I quit everything else that went with marching: the drinking, the potsmoking, the dead-end relationships with married men on drugs, the couch-surfing, the twenty-seven hour parties, the random visits in the middle of the night, the graveyard shifts at Denny's, the loan-sharking, the stealing of Carl's junior paraphenalia, the strip!dominoes, the shady drug-deals, the drives to Krispy Kremes as a cover to have sex in an airport parking lot, the sectionals in my living room, the harboring of stolen musical instruments, and the early-morning phone calls with no point or purpose.

Cheech moved out. Chong got married. The baritone line no longer sleeps on my couch, and the brothel is closed, because Wonderwhore™ went back home.

I have a real job, and I quit marching. My life is normal now. Boring and mundane. Given that, WHY THE SHIT WOULD I ANSWER THE PHONE AT 3:15 am.

Thanks you. Please Drive Thru.