April 1, 2003 (5:58pm): I got me a guitar. Yup. Now I gotta get me some of that talent stuff. Cool. Dig it.
I don't know why I hate work so much, but I do. I think it's just the people. I mean, the other people in the call center. Just a buncha nobodies who wouldn't be anything if they hadn't been promoted to some position that was vacated by some other nobody. And my grammar is awful, I know.
But really, I just don't think I'm suited for a position in any group that has an authority structure at which I'm not at the top. It's not fun, and I'm just not good at following.
April 5, 2003 (10:24pm): Sometimes it feels like I am all alone / Most of the time, actually, I am alone / That's alright / Don't give up now, I'm almost there.
The last few days have sucked, and it's hard to explain. It's like trying to articulate bumping your knee on a table corner. Just leaves a dull pain and a nasty disposition, and there's really nothing that can be said about it.
So I got my second warning at work, and I really gotta say, this was undeserved. The first one, sure, 'cause I was getting really slack there for the longest time. But this one... No.
Okay, so I was on the phone with this old lady who was using a cellphone, in a car, no less. I couldn't understand a damn thing she said throughout the call. Nevertheless, I found the information she needed and helped her out. Then at the end of the call I had to read this bullshit script about some coupon program. So I ask her "Is there anything else I can help you with?" and she says no. Then I hear some crumpling, kinda like when you fold up the cellphone and toss it down, or hang up or whatever. You know what I mean. So as I started the script, the line goes dead, and it's just staticky air.
I didn't finish the script 'cause, well, there's no one there, and even if I finished it, I couldn't have transferred no-one to the service.
Turns out, though, that the supervisor would have had me read the script to the dead air, just in case someone had managed to stay on the line and I was just the biggest fucking idiot ever and couldn't tell dead air from a living person. So I got a second warning. One more and I get the can.
Now, I really have to ask: What the hell am I doing wrong? I'm getting slammed by these losers no matter what I do. I don't do the right work, I get screwed. I do the right work and do it better than anyone there, and they find some little bullshit thing to screw me over.
I don't get it.
I have no plans, and the little things I think about invariably get shut off from me. I just don't get it. And no one's around to help me.
April 8, 2003 (2:59pm): Thanks to friends who are never around, I ended up wasting all three goddamn days I had off. You have no idea just how little there is to do here. Really.
But I went out anyway, looking for a new MC Honky record, only to realize that all the records store in Charleston are reactionary and lame-ass. They don't get anything till it's guaranteed to sell. It sucks ass.
So today is shot. Yesterday was a farce. Sunday... Well, you know me and Sundays.
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April 21, 2003 (12:54am): My fingernails are really long. I thought I'd grow them out, make it easier to play guitar.
The guitar playing that I'm not practicing, that is.
I know A major.
Anyway, earlier today I took some cold medicine. A bit too much, like I usually do, but later on I started drinking. So by 7pm or so I was completely out of it. I just lied down on my bed, staring off into space, and listening to Rufus Wainwright's "Barcelona" on repeat for about an hour. There's not much going on here anymore.
But as I was lying there my mind started, sort of, wandering. And wondering, I guess. Nothing coherent, just a stream of consciousness. From one thing to another. From Tony the Tiger to appeasement to people I knew that have been forgotten to wondering who's forgotten me... All over the place.
I didn't come up with anything. I mean, no great realization was hatched.
I don't even know what the hell I'm talking about. All I know is that after a while I just got up, left the room, and kept fiddling around with the minutiae of my life. There's a great volume of minutiae, but as is expressed in the use of the word "minutiae"... It's not particularly interesting.
I'm at one of those points, of which there are many, at frequent intervals, where, if someone could wave a magic wand and make it possible, I wouldn't hesitate to leave behind everything.
I don't hate myself. Or my life. But I sure wish there was something else. Does that make sense? Like, my daily life is okay, it could be much, much worse. But provided the chance, I wouldn't know anything I know again.
April 27, (1:09am): Not a single thing went right today. Everything, I could almost swear, constructed to push me a little closer to that scary dark edge.
And it was nothing particularly big. No great world-shattering revelation or tragedy. Just little things. Thousands and thousands of little things that string my anger along like a tease.
But I don't really want to dwell on them. They're in the past and I can't remember most of them, anyway.
I really miss my old apartment sometimes. The one I was never happy with, back then. While I was there it was a miserable oppressive place, but things have gotten rosier in hindsight. It wasn't so bad. Sure, the floor was always dirty and there were dust bunnies all over the place. I had to walk back and forth to class, and when I got home I always realized the day was final and I had a few hours to die before I could go to sleep.
But isn't that what I do here? At least there I could fall back on the knowledge that I was at least doing something. My school was awful, but it was school, right? And it wasn't really that awful.
I was walking back and forth to class, but it was at least to class, right? It wasn't just two minutes to the mail box and back, once a day. If even that.
I don't understand why I can't be happy in the moment. All I know is that I'm not now, and I lost a great chance back then. I'm not sure whose fault it was, but being fully grounded in myself, I'm apt to blame...well, myself. How much control do I have, and how much blame is mine?
I hate to think that everyone else thinks I'm some sort of slacker bum. Why would they? It's not fair, or accurate. I'm not stranded here by choice. I think it's clear by now that I'd rather not be, at all, than be here any longer.
But what to do? Money money money. It all takes money. I don't have it, can't go anywhere. I can't go anywhere, people think I'm lazy. They say "get a job, get some money." I think "I can't get a job, lest I would and would have money and wouldn't be here, and you wouldn't be trying to bum me out all the time."
Geez. I'm awful.
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