Job stability, something that is a luxury to me along with cash. Leaving the monstrous world of freelancing and entering the world of 9-5 to me is nothing short of from the frying pan into the fire… or does it go like that at all? Today, I have been presented with rumours that my editor-in-chief questions the integrity I have for the mag. And that had been fuelled by my lack of presence in the office. My question is, why? When he is the very same person that goes “We haven’t got enough office space at the moment, so whoever that can work from home please do until we find a solution.” You send me home, and then complain that you hardly see me? He is either a complete idiot or one big spaz. And the biggest joke of it all, that perhaps I was lying about my going back to uni or not. I can’t even seem to list the benefits I’d rake in from creating a complete instable status for myself. Should anyone see this a benefit in that please tell me and I’ll shave my head for you. “Oh I don’t know… she’s so unreliable. She doesn’t know whether she’s coming or going. For all you know she’s just lying” Lying? About??? Which part of my fucking miserably messed life am I lying about? That half the time I’m wondering when my next pay cheque is coming from? All that I may fucking never finish my god forsaken degree? Lying about perhaps I am after all an undergrad that hasn’t fucking grad yet? And can someone please tell me WHERE in this whole alleged LIE that I am supposed to fucking benefit from?
I don’t know which is worse to put up with, an environment where you are susceptible to sexual harassment or an environment where you have to put up with fucking brats that run publishing companies owned by their parents?? For god’s sake fuck face; you’re still living off your parents! Wake up and smell the coffee. You are no where near being great sweetheart! Start something on your own, blood, sweat and tears and you will have my respect. Anything short of that, you’re just another puppet clad in Gucci that your parents paid for!
Yes in case you were wondering, I’m having an effing bad day. In fact I feel so shite I’m not even looking forward to my supposed 21st birthday dinner tomorrow. What’s there to celebrate when you’ve just been shuttled back to misery-ville? It wouldn’t matter if one of them big 21st birthday bashes will never be mine cuz what’s the point when after the party you’re left to think how broke you are, how lost and how fucked your life suddenly feels like.
Wallowing
in self-pity – something I honestly don't enjoy doing. But when i've tried
just so hard to make something out of nothing, it’s just so heart wrenching to
watch people treat me like dirt. And at the same time beggars aren’t choosers,
which leaves me with perseverance as my only solution. Play my game right and
maybe I’ll get my piece of the cake. Why does it have to be so difficult? I
just want to work and get paid for whatever I’ve done. I don’t want to be
any part of idiot power struggles in the office, nor do I want to be a favourite.
I just want to get fucking paid every month so I don’t have to stay up
thinking of ways to make my RM10 last for 14 days.
Sometimes, everything just feels so incredibly bleak that I don’t feel any different from the blind beggars you see on the streets. I am blind – I can’t see my future anymore, I don’t even dare dream should I die of heartbreak when it doesn’t materialise. I don’t exactly have a place to stay, I had been evicted once and it can happen again. And mind you, beggars perhaps have more in their pockets than I do at any one time. And to round up the whole beggar alikeness, friends have to buy me meals and pop me a tenner every now and then when my fucking cheques don’t clear on time. What am I? A beggar disguised in the luxury of the years that had passed?
I know I am complaining far too much, but right now the stabbing pain of not being back in school where I should god damn well be stings me. You know how you dream of the mansion you might one day want to own? That’s school for me. I’m tired of working, I’m tired of having to worry about where my money’s coming from next. How will I survive beyond this when it is all fast becoming too much for me at 21?
Escape. I need the tender loving escape Mary Jane gives me. Just one more, until it all gets better, just one more.
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