"It's funny how money changes situations."
As of 6/7/05, I no longer work at The Firm. That makes me gainfully unemployed. Well not unemployed too much; I still temp here and there to keep the mortgage paid. I really don't want anything too binding right now. After working 15 hour days for the past year, the vacation is welcome. Oh, yeah, unemployment rocks too.
There's a reason I don't have too many friends. Frankly people aint shit. Lemme splain.
What I have experienced these past couple of weeks really opened my eyes to the nature of humans. I no longer have the means or desire to extend myself to people who once depended on me regularly for support when their shit was real raggedy and fucked up: emotional, financial or otherwise. Of course I haven't received the same courtesy. People treat you like shit when you don't have a job. I'm not pressed to get one either. I'm chillin as is and still paying the bills. If I can work this right, I plan to go to school full time for a year to graduate a lot sooner than I originally planned. Right after I deliver this third and final child, I'll be on my way.
I'm trying to maintain my composure, however, folks is on the last piece of nerve I have left. Once again I have people trying to tell me what's best for me, when they wouldn't have a smidgen of an idea what to do if they were in any of my situations. Help is one thing but unwarrented help is down right annoying. And quite misplaced. Don't offer to help me then help me with shit I don't need help with. Technically, that isn't helping.
I can't live my life to make other people comfortable. I do what I do when I feel like it. That's how it's going to be. What this has taught me is to be careful of the people I chose to over extend my assistance to. It's not likely they'll appreciate it.
I saw this while browsing over at Karsh's place. Found it to be quite interesting and suprisingly accurate.
If you read the previous entry, you'd know I'd been dealing with some furry visitor who came unannounced and quite uninvited. Just like a nigga.
Since the last post, the creature has been downgraded from a possum to a rat. How the hell was I to know? I aint never in life seen a rat. After the Animal Control dude looks at be sideways before leaving my house at 3 am, I submit a request to this site whenever I need service for the house. They got back to me with a list of companies that could provide service. The first one I tried, ProTech Pest Control was the worst. They fucked up the scheduling so bad; I couldn't deal with them. That's when Terminix called and sold me on their service. They arrived past the 2 hour appointment window, but atleast they showed up. He went through and patched the holes, laid some traps, a little poison and told me to wait two weeks. Unh huhn. Good news: with the holes patched up, nothing can get in. Bad news: with the holes patched up, whatever's in here can't get out.
Not long after he left, I heard some scratching and shuffling in the kitchen. I go in cautiously, cause for real, iown know what's in there and I was devoid of my weapon of choice--the kids' red shovel. There it was under the stove, squirming, presumably stuck. I stood there not knowing what to do. Unable to move the stove, I left. Maybe it'll die. That so wasn't the case.
This creature lurked around my house like it owned it--going through my closet, creeping on my dresser prolly using all my Bath and Body Works products. I hated him and he began not to fear me. What a mistake on his behalf.
Last night, my furry visitor decided it was a great idea to creep up in my computer room...while I was using it. I leave, not sure of how to get rid of him. I certainly wasn't going to gag myself trying to kill him. In the meantime, the kids go in the computer room doin their kid thing. About 10 minutes later, they run back out telling me this fellow has crawled into the trash can...and won't get out. Cool. Here's my chance to get rid of this bastard.
Here we are, me and my posse, gathered around the trash can not knowing what to do. The critter, too scared to jump out the trash can, won't even look at us. Again, not knowing what to do, I call my mother. Moms know stuff, don't they? She gives me the brilliant idea of trapping it so it can't get out. Ah Ha! Put a phonebook over the opening of the trash can. I grab a book, the daughter pulls the can out and he's trapped. Slid a bag over the trash can and took him outside...and dumped him.
Respekt. Mah. Gankstuh.« ... now bounce.