Blogging. You could say that I am sick of it. Yeah, I know it doesn’t make sense because I don’t do enough it. I’m not down with the current hip batch of bloggers, so I wouldn’t be able to differentiate my Scobles from my Kottkes. You could say that it’s all very erky squerky. Kind of like my life right now.
Work is like my personality. Ruddy bipolar. There are days when being there makes me feel higher than smoking da ‘erb (not that I personally condone people partaking in the consumption of illegal substances… *loud cough*). Other days, it’s a case of “Get me the fuck out of here before I go postal on your arse with your shitty database system that always crashes”. My old mate, Cynicism (not an online nick) has come to visit me once again and with him, he’s brought the gatecrashing Indifference, Indecisiveness, Annoyance and Apathy. Put them all together, combine with a bottle of your finest Smirnoff beverage and you have one woman that doesn’t give a shit anymore.
A word of advice from NotDrPhil. Don’t get into a relationship crisis when the ol’ Black Dog starts nipping at your ankles either. Don’t get into a relationship crisis with someone who has a Black Dog nipping at their ankles as well. In the end, it causes nothing but hurt. For some reason, the lead up to winter over here in .au has always messed with my head.
I’m tired of fake, two-face snobby people. You know, the kinds you think you can trust but when you turn your back they’re either making fun of you when talking to other people, they think they are too good to say hi to you or they just plain think that because they earn three dollars more than you an hour that they can treat you like a pile of inferior garbage.
I’m sick of so-called partners that get their knickers into such a twist over little things such as talking to or hanging out with people of the opposite sex. Mr so-called partner decides to go emotionally postal. Here! Would you like a medal for that? Go awaaaaay!
I’m thankful for the little things in life though. True friends who will take the time to listen and give appropriate shoves in the right direction. Intellectual conversation that doesn’t revolve around the same four boring “safe topics”. Feeling useful. Not feeling like I’m being treated like a ‘tard because I have a lazy eye (I heart my gimpy eye!). Waking up in the morning and feeling that yes, you have some minute purpose in life. It’s little things like that that make life tolerable.
This is why I hate blogging. Every damn post turns into a personal diary entry that belongs in a Livejournal, Xanga or some other random girly type journal gubbins.
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