:: Searching for Puck... ::

:: Friday, June 21, 2002 ::

Well, life sucks. A lot. I hate it.

So, I went back for my second interview at Chesapeake and David tells me, in so many words, that it's more than necessary that one of my past employers call him up and talk to him, and essentially it's pointless for me to hope for a job there unless I could produce such an employer.

So, basically, I'm fucked. Hardcore.

All of my jobs I've left on bad terms, and usually not my own choice. My last two? Carlstadt Blockbuster, which I left because I had a nervous breakdown, and Luigi's, who fired me because George is a businesslike asshole.

So I cannot produce a single ex employer who won't damn my image entirely. Doesn't help that I kind of avoided the truth about why I was no longer employed at Luigi's. I told David that they switched owners, which was true. I neglected to mention that the owner that took over was my boss from before the switch.

So, that job is fucked. I emailed angelfall studios, and they've had me sitting here like a fucking ass for the past three weeks waiting for a call that wasn't going to come because they FOUND SOME-FUCKING-BODY ALREADY. Thanks for fucking telling me, assholes.

Jon is unreachable for the next four days because there's no signal or email for him to call or write.

So here I sit, on Summer Solstice, my three month anniversary...without my boyfriend, without being able to call him, without being able to write him, jobless with not a single hope for anything ever going right for me, in an apartment that doesn't stay clean no matter what I do, with an ungreatful bird who tries to take a chunk out of me if I even look at it funny, without air conditioning, and completely and utterly and soul-suckingly depressed.

I hate my life.


:: Fox 6/21/2002 11:57:00 PM [Say what?] ::
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