...Email reading continued... Or not
....So I watched my bloody a-- and by the end of 90 days I was a little more relaxed.
But now it's happening again.
Whether anybody might have agreed with my shouting at the videotape operator -- as I suspect at least ONE person, somewhere in there, might have -- doesn't matter.
This, I'm SURE by this point, is going to get back to management. Which has changed by now, but nevertheless.
I'm getting ready to just say, You know, I shouldn't work here anymore. I'm becoming more of a liability -- to myself and to the company -- if I were to continue doing what I'm doing.
Disregard all other factors like my schedule changing extremely on a regular basis. Because of this, I guess it's time we parted ways.
I don't think there is anything that can be done by the company to make my life better, and I don't think the company owes it to me; I need to leave and the company needs to replace me and I'm sorry, I can give the company one more month but at the end they should kick me out.
I cannot handle this stressful job with grace under pressure.
And yet, the other day when my show totally tanked because my lead story completely died for several minutes, I was fine and careful and calculated and it was clean on the air. And I didn't yell at anybody.
Why? The answer: Management was there. It was during a weekday.
Is this the top of the heap thing?
The other day my current supervisor told me I was good where I was -- as I had asserted -- and he liked what I was doing. That's good, right?
(sigh)
I just don't want to exist anymore. I'm getting fatter, I have no interest in exercising, I just want to be thin and cute without any work to get that way. I'm never going to have a regular circle of friends who all get along and are all friendly and generally agreeable, and I'm never going to have a boyfriend. Or even a girlfriend.
I'm going to die alone, either in this apartment which will never be decorated right and will always be incredibly cluttered, or I'm going to move back in with my parents and die in my childhood home, presumably after they have.
I'm never going to be great, never going to do anything of serious interest or fame or satisfaction to myself, nothing to say, "You know, I'm really proud of that," about. Nothing to blush about, at least not genuinely.
I'm just a waste of space, life, food, money, clothes. I should just finish it all. Hmm, let's see, if it cost, let's say, $5,000 a year first thru 5th grades of private school, $7,500 a year 6th thru 8th grades, $10,000 a year 9th thru 12th grades, and, oh, say, $30,000 a year freshman thru senior year of college (these are very rough estimates), how much money did my parents waste on me, education alone?
30,000 lower school (2 years of first grade)
22,500 middle school
40,000 upper school
120,000 college
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$212,500
Not counting clothes, food, remodeling the house so I had a bigger bedroom and a loft, trips, toys, books --- GOD, the books! --- and videotapes.
And then of course, the priceless one: their love.
Why am I disappointing my parents so much in this way as to put these elements of life on display for the public to read, including them? I took one entry -- a DrunkBlog (like a drunk dial) -- off because I said to myself, that's just wrong for me to say, it's so against them, whether it's true or not, it's inappropriate.
I am incredibly depressed. Incredibly. I just don't want to exist anymore, or have a brain that thinks. It would be incredibly selfish to take my own life. Especially since my parents have invested so much in it. I just don't want to live anymore. I just want to die!
Maybe one of these days it'll be an interesting blog for people who want to read how depressed a human got. And how he deigned to put it on display for everyone to see. At least Marvin the Paranoid Android was entertaining. This is just pathetic.
Labels: Originally published
... Scribbled by Bill T ... 8/29/2005 03:50:00 AM ... 
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