the futility of my resistance to the current state of affairs was making itself aware to me more and more with each newborn minute that this bloody meeting dragged on. I continuously fail to see why I must need be included in every discussion that is even tangentially related to that damned website, and why my fridays are a mush of nonsense, 2 hour lunches in the peeps room, and this 1+ hour block of time we mockingly (or at least for me, mockingly) call a “meeting.”
and in the pantheon of evil corporations, on the frieze up above the columns, add, next to the smiling face of mickey mouse and directly to the left of the bank of america logo, the computer-generated face of claire. that sprint pcs bitch. I don’t think I possess quite enough ire, enough pure bile, with which to fairly illustrate my hatred of sprint right now. their incompetence infested stores. service which can best be described as “can you hear me now? what? huh? @#&*! phone…” rude simpletons posing as gainfully employed workers. rip-offs and add-ons galore. its like a pyramid scam turned into a major corporation. and currently (and assuredly, for little longer) I am the scammee, and not the scammer. and I am so cool on that.
thoughts drift back to her. I know as I write these words I do so with the full knowledge she will devour every last one of them, though I am not clear as to what exactly I plan to gain out of this awareness, and my actions thereupon. she must know how I think of her, how my heart is hers, fully, completely, but even so she knows but does not know. thinks but does not believe it.
I am going home now. well, not now, as I am typing this, I am going to finish eating a few more slices of pizza, then I will pack my belongings and get moving like the wayward soul I am. for though I love her madly, I shall not be taken for granted. and that’s how I feel right now – completely taken for granted. its not important whether its true or not, its only important that I do feel that way. so its far better for me to take my happy black ass home, and be irate there, than to stay here and grow increasingly agitated and angry. yeah, I am hella sensitive, I know, but either you deal with it or you don’t. I think I just needed more than you were willing to give this evening. and I miss my own bed. my own walls. I wanted you to share them with me, but I don’t know, there are times I don’t want to have to remind you of our plans, when I don’t want to feel like the little kid tugging at his mama’s sleeve. “but you said…” so now its just me and comrade smirnoff. and we are making a go of it. maybe tomorrow night, you and I?