Must you stick your nose into everything? Into things that aren't, or shouldn't be, your business? This place has been a revolving door for drama and trouble for the last couple of weeks, and it's starting to really bug me. For many nights now, every time I come home from a stressful day at work, I have to take in more stress by listening to your friends gripe and bitch, and yell. Tell them to keep their goddamn problems to themselves and at their own homes, and don't fucking drag them here. Do you know how late your drunkard friend Faye kept me up the other night? Four in the morning. She was up until four fifteen, yelling and cussing at John on the phone, and telling everyone and their fucking sister that she "didn't slash his goddamn motherfucking tires." Which, of course, she did. Fucking drunkard. Now, I realize it's not entirely unusual for me to stay up that late anyway on some nights, but I had to work the next day at twelve-thirty. I wanted to go to bed sooner, but her loud fucking mouth made that a bit difficult.
Then Terri over here yelling at Tommy on the phone last night ... There was a reason I shut the door and put on a CD in the PS3, besides just "sorry, I listen to loud music when I clean" - my television can go louder than my laptop. I don't want to hear them bitching at each other, it's sort of one of the plethora of reasons I don't go to their house anymore.
And let's not even get into Kari and her antics. I have no idea what's going on with her and those two guys, but I do know that I can't have you going around leaving voicemails like that for people, no matter how fucking pissed you are that they're lying sacks of shit and talking about your niece. How old is Kari again? Oh, right, almost thirty, with a seven-year-old kid. I think she can fight her own fucking battles, so I don't need you doing stupid shit that could potentially get you in trouble. It's none of your fucking business, even if the asshole is spreading lies. So? Let her fucking deal with it. Also, if she's going to come over every fucking morning after you get home, at least close my motherfucking door back so that your gabbing doesn't wake me the hell up. I close it best I can when I go to bed, but Kali always manages to get it fully open during the night, so when either of you start yammering, it wakes me up - like it has for the past three days in a fucking row. Cut it out, or I'm putting the goddamn litter box and food in the damn kitchen so I can shut my door all the way and not worry about the cat. That's where it should fucking be anyway, you're out of real reasons to make me keep it in my room. Not like you have a dog anymore. Which reminds me, I can't believe you tried to ask if I'd mind you bringing that pup home. What happened to "I don't want any more dogs after this one"? You said that after Charity, and then you got Angel, and then you lost that one, too. Fucking give up already, god. One shedding pet is enough.
And, lastly, stop being so ignorant of my financial situation, please god. It isn't just going to "be better" next month, and I can't comfortably split up payments like I was doing before. The last time, I was taking out around a hundred and fifty per week for bills. This week I work thirty hours - I'll be lucky if my paycheck even hits a hundred and fifty. And that was without the increased phone bill, and the fact I have to pay for insurance now. It just isn't going to work, and I don't know what I can do to make you understand that I am just not making as much as I had been. I'd ask you to help me out, but we both know you can't manage your money for shit, so there's no point. For fuck's sake, I'm the one who's got to ask every month if such-and-such has been paid for the month yet. You're welcome. You have to fucking work with me at least for the next couple of months; I have got to keep this job at least until after the first week of May. That concert trip puts a bump in things, and were it not for that, I'd be praying for a new job tomorrow. But as it stands, I'm stuck where I'm at until then. Fucking work with me, or at the least, stop telling me everything will be okay when it won't.
Yeah, fuck you and your stress, demands, shit hours and shit pay. Oh, and fuck those shitty backstabbing coworkers, too.
The one who's been taking your shit the longest
Augh. Come faster. I need something good to look forward to. Even if it is an inconvenience in several ways, I don't and doubt I will in the future regret choosing to go. (Right. What would make me regret going to a HIM gig? Nothing, that's right. I just hope I don't get sick like I did the last time. Ack.)
Bouncing with anticipation,
Bring me back something awesome from Glasgow. x3 I know I said it didn't matter, but ... I'm still excited, hah.
Your little girl
P.S. It's still unfair. Psh. You should buy those Helsinki tickets for me for Christmas to make up for it. Hint hint.