To everybody that wants me to create a username and password to look at the badly spelled bullshit on their website: Fuck off. Fuck directly off. Don't pass go, don't collect $200, just fuck off. And take your snotty cliquey site with you. This includes you, Washington Post. I don't want to see that "username-password" hyenaspunk unless you're protecting sensitive information like my e-mail, or I'm paying for the account. Otherwise, you're just being a dick.
I'm busy, I'm tired, and I desperately want to make a big bloody dent in somebody's skull with a heavy blunt object I feel a smidge frustrated just now.
I fucking fucking FUCKING HATE DEADLINES. DO YOU HEAR ME???
[grabs a deadline and stabs it to gory ribbons]
What is it, week 3? Oh please, sweet merciful Athena, let me get done with this awful fucking degree ASAP so I can stop paying $275 a credit to have ulcer-inducing deadlines smeared all over my schedule like the contents of soiled diapers. I have said this before, though maybe not here, and I'll say it again, because I believe it completely. DEADLINES MAKE LIFE A PRISON. Oh, they make it possible for you to get things done. Of course, the only reason you're getting it done is that somebody's standing over you with a stick waiting to fire you or flunk you. I don't make deadlines in my personal life, such as "By age 35 I will have this and this" or "I have to lose X pounds by Christmas" because it just sucks the joy out of my life.
And that's why I'll never have a job I love. Because ALL of the fucking things have deadlines. If you were an employer, it'd be bloody pointless to give people tasks and then give them all the time in the world to do it, wouldn't it? And if you were a client hiring a freelancer, you'd want stuff done by a certain time too, and not just whenever, right? So there. If you're going to do something for money, whether you're self-employed or an employee for a company, some fuckstick somewhere is going to slap a deadline on you. And because the terror of the deadline defecates all over your enjoyment of the task, it cancels out the idea of the "do what you love and get paid for it" career. You can't do what you love and get paid for it--at least I can't--because once you sign on to get paid, some sheepfucker is going to make you do it on a deadline in order to get your money; the deadline takes most of the fun out of it; and then you don't enjoy it anymore. So by definition, if it's a job, it will never, ever be something that makes me go "Wheee! I could do this all day and night!" because I don't enjoy structured time anywhere near as much as unstructured time. It's like having to fuck to a metronome with a countdown timer.
I'm re-reading this and it's bloody terrible. What the hell, I gotta post something eventually or people will start sending out search parties.
So yeah. Deadlines, usernames, passwords, blah blah blah. Sucks.
But peach Jell-O with mandarin oranges in it is delicious. So is having working air conditioning, even if I am cold. [It's 78 degrees in here and I'm freezing. Acclimated to the heat much?]
So is this:
1/2 lb. ground turkey or hamburger, browned and crumbled
2 servings instant brown rice according to package
2 slices of American or other cheese
Taco sauce
Throw it all together, heat it up, mix it together. Mmmm.
same bitch time, same bitch channel...
Posted by Frida Peeple at July 20, 2005 08:40 AM