27 Jun


I am at Starbucks.  Sybil is getting braces and so it wasn’t worth going home.  We were supposed to have a meeting but it cancelled for the second day in a row. 

Sybil had 10 friends over last night and she told me about it an hour before.  Jack is making comments that make he feel bad.  An associate is coming here in ten minutes.  I need more premium for one associate in order to hit my number and everything is not happening.

This is God’s test.  How much little minutaie can you take without losing your shit all together?  FB has not been at the gym since Saturday and it is now Wednesday.  Where the fuck is he?   It’s probably better – all I have is my fantasy to fuel me.  No reality to rear it’s ugly head.

Nora Ephraim died.  I didn’t realize she wrote When Harry Met Sally AND Sleepless in Seattle AND You’ve Got Mail.  All the good ones.  Oh well. 

So, I am completely frazzled about these freaking numbers.  Let me go check if the computer responded.   OK, never mind, the whole thing shut down since internet freaking explorer was not freaking working. 

Well, I will type while I can until the girl comes.  She was down in freaking Alabama and is so new that it’s amazing she got anything through. 

My regional was looking at me the other day and said “patience.  You don’t have any patience.  Translated in Patty speak:  You are so fucked up I can’t work with you.  You are a nut case.

Liz was acting like I was a wimp today when I only wanted to do one minute of planks.  Come on, she says.  I am working on my beautilicious body.  Translated in Patty speak:  You are a Fat, Lazy Ass hole, but I want to Look Good.

Then I went to the locker room and saw my stomach hanging over my pants.  Fuck.  If I had known, I would have been holding it in.   Patty says:  You actually think you look good, you fucking fat loser.  You are a fat joke.

Last night I was on Jack’s complete case because he doesn’t fucking close the screen doors when he comes in the house.  We live on top of a marsh and there are mosquitos and bugs everywhere.  “I was waiting for you to come out or in.”  Patty is yelling:  Don’t fucking wait for me.  Meanwhile 18 bugs have come in.

Let’s now get to his chewing.  When I am trying not to eat chips, he comes in crunching as loud as a loud clap of thunder right in my ear.  I want to rip his fucking head off.  I sit there trying not to be bitchy, but with each fucking bite my irritation grows bigger and bigger and meaner and meaner.  Finally PATTY yells:  If you keep chewing this loud, you will end up a eunoch.  (sp)    

The chewing and the slurping and the noises – even the way he enunciates – make me see red.  I want to scream.

Today Sybil was a bitch on wheels.  She blames me for not doing the braces sooner.  If I had, she wouldn’t be in pain now.  OK, she’s right, but…….am I going to have to hear this for the next 18 months?  I was fighting with her this morning and yelling at the top of my lungs.  The boys were just staying out of the way of two female monsters. 

Chad is nice.  He rubs my shoulders after an extremely harsh interaction.  Now this woman is getting late.  I am waiting to use the bathroom so I don’t have to bring my computer into the freaking ladies room and I am getting to the point of pain here. 

Well, I am starting to feel better.  More coffee is not a good idea, I think.  How come the bathroom is always empty except when I wanted to go there was some guy in there for 45 minutes?  I really didn’t want to go in there after him at all.

There is a retired fireman at the gym who comes later who is very nice.  I used to be scared of him, but now he is actually quite interesting to talk to.  He was telling me about what a “whore” he was until he met his wife.  So, I asked him about it.  He said it was before AIDS and most diseases.  Interesting.  AND, he is not a condom guy, but he came out unscathed. 

So, alot in my brain and when I don’t vent, I just get stuck in my mind.  I need to vent to stay healthy, or I just keep it in and blow.  I need to hit this number so I better get back to work.  I am afraid the woman will finally get here and 1.  I will be sitting in a puddle of pee and 2.  She will see what I am writing.  I don’t know which is worse.  I think I better risk leaving the computer and just freaking go.

I am too uncomfortable to type anymore.  Gotta go.  Literally .  Not editting.  Thanks for listening.



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