[No, this entry has nothing to do with the lame-ass MTV show where a white boy with black accent tries to sound all "street" while all the skanky ho's shake their asses incessantly as soon as they see a camera hoping to be discovered by some slimy hollywood agent and become the next J.Lo]

Excuse the unnecessary rant. It is the result of an overworked brain.
All throughout this week, work has been an incessant barrage of text, photos, and non-stop printing problems. Printers, either big or small, are the most hateful, blood-boiling contraptions ever to be spawned by technology. They get disconfigured, get a paper jammed in inexplicable ways, (once I scooped a paper from inside a printer that was scrunched into a perfect japanese fan) they print stuff the wrong way/wrong color, they run out of ink at the most innapropriate times, or they just plain die on you in the middle of a very important assignment. I haven’t bought a printer to this day, even though sometimes I am in dire need of one, but at least I am a happy, ulcer-free individual.
Aside from the printers, I’ve never felt so burned out at my job since I started. It seems that lately my energies have been dwindling away to god knows where, or sucked away by god knows what. Every fucking day this week I have arrived to work kinda like this:

 

And when I get home, it irritates me to no end when anybody asks me "how was work today?". I don’t know why, but somehow deep inside I find it kinda offensive. I know, it’s a normal thing to ask to someone who just arrived home, but when I am approached with that question, I wanna bite that person’s head off. I can’t quite explain it. Unless, of course, something extraordinarily awesome of fucked up happened during the day. Like the uproar caused by a company who wants to advertise a battery powered, vibrating cockring. (happenned today, actually).
Slowly I’ve gotten used to the routine. Wake up at this time, have breakfast. Speed off to work because took too much time reading the damn paper, (when you actually WORK at a newspaper… IDIOT!) arrive at work, say hi to everyone with a fake smile, (I am NOT a morning person, mind you, so it’s extremely hard to coax my facial muscles into producing that crooked grimace I call a ’smile’) I sit down and work, have lunch, work again, and leave. It is the time AFTER work that turns kind of awkward.

On a normal work day, when everything goes ok and printers and computers don’t feel like having a hissy fit, I arrive at home at about 7 pm. Which is fine. But when I get there I’m like…"What the fuck do I do now? watch tv? eat? read? play a videogame? get connected? update my writings?"… Sometimes I want to do so many things at once that I don’t do anything at all. I just throw myself in the bed and stare at the ceiling for a long time, thinking about what to do. Then I doze off, and when I wake up it’s about 11 or midnight and I realize that my free time of the day has dissolved within a crappy, meaningless nap. I fucking hate that. I start thinking that I wasted a perfectly good ‘quarter of a day’ with something as trivial as sleeping. And woe is me if I try to get those hours back by going to sleep late. Waking up for work the next day becomes the aventure of a lifetime. I much rather throw a golden ring into the center of a smoldering volcano accompanied by midgets with hairy feet, than try to wake up after sleeping 3 or 4 hours. The volcano thing is less treacherous.
I tried moving my alarm clock to a point in the room where I actually have to stand up to turn it off, but it wasn’t enough. In one of those half-awake/half-asleep stupors, I found out how long my upper limbs are when I reached out and smacked the alarm from the comfort of my bed.
*Note so self: Next time, tape the alarm clock to the ceiling*

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Ok… I’ve been thinking for a conclusion to this diatribe for quite a few minutes now, but, as I re-read it and saw that it has no point whatsoever, I might as well leave it as it is.

Ta-ta.

Posted in Work |

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