So my day starts off with venting angry spleen about a situation that frustrates me, in a public forum, but in at least an attemptedly subtle fashion. This obviously means I need to get email that includes the expletive 'fucking' as the subjectline in the middle of my workday, berating me for venting my spleen in a manner that qualifies as venting, throwing around guilttrips and hostility, and thereby frankly INCREASING the frustration which I attempted to exorcise. Okay, fine. Great, wonderful. Maybe the concept that such a subject line of an email is unacceptable in polite society is just me, and I need to get rid of this illusion. So I smile, and nod, and read the email, and respond as coherently and politely as I can. Just because I'm in a foul mood doesn't mean I should not cut anyone on the planet any slack.
The whole day at work is a festival of suck, filled with people being fucking inanely stupid in my general direction, some of whom want me to do their job for them, which I am simply not in a position to be able to do. Terrific, wonderful, great. Just because I'm in a foul mood doesn't mean I should not cut anyone on the planet any slack-- so I do what I can, smiling and nodding the whole way.
The ride home is a tense and growly thing. Fantastic. Super. I sit there with my trap shut; I'm not the only person who had a crap day.
And then, five minutes of a TV show I really wanted to watch are not recorded on the TiVo because I thought that the TiVo would manage something it can't manage, and was insistent that my belief was right. Because this show was something someone else also wanted to watch, not only do I not get to watch that portion of a show I wanted to watch, but I get to be fucking evil incarnate for daring to be wrong about how an item that is not even mine works. Fan. Fucking. Tastic.
I am sure that someone is reading this now and is pissed off that I'm daring to publically say I didn't appreciate that I got email that included the expletive 'fucking' as part of the subject line, since my reply to it was simply cool and non-confrontational as I could muster. I am sure someone else will read this and get upset that I got tired of the scapegoat hat. I am sure someone ELSE will read this and bitch that I just haven't got patience. You kids have fun. As for me?
Let it be entered into the record that, effective today, I am
Have your emotional fit elsewhere, spend your free time in someone else's house, get up on somebody else's cross. I don't have the bandwidth, I am out of patience, I lack the energy, this is frankly just shit for my blood pressure (and thereby for any outstanding health issues I may have on my plate), and I'm just. Fucking. Done.
Don't stand on my skirt, get out of my hair, get off my ass, solve your own problems, deal with your own issues instead of blaming me or god or elvis or satan or the moon for them, wipe your own nose, bandage your own cuts, and don't expect me to not say whose bullshit it is.
I am that fucking done.
Later, I will not be that fucking done. And I will do you the favor of letting you know I am not fucking done anymore. But I cannot deal with it all, at this point. Right now, I'm fucking done.
Why no. You don't get to comment to this one, either, Gentle Reader.