Oh, pissy me. The red dragon's approaching. I can feel hard little knots of anger (or maybe gas, but practically speaking it's the same difference) building in my stomach, and I know I've been spoiling for a fight for at least 30 hours already. So I'm going to write at least one positive thing today as the next few entries will probably be sweary catalogues of things I wish would die and stupid things people have said to me, like "Can I ask you a question?" or "I know no-one's interested in this but me, but . . ."
Okay. I must say, I love my job these days. It's so nice to go into the office and enjoy sitting there for the however many billions of hours that had me staring angrily at the clock everywhere else I've ever worked. It's such pleasant work. Pity the pay is so shit and the newsletter is propagandist. But then, aren't they all? I think the pleasantness of this job is one of the things that pushed my subconcious into suddenly informing me we're going back to university if someone gives us the money for it - we know we can't stay here forever, but there's no way we're going back to shitwork, even if it pays us five times as much. It's difficult enough as it is to get out of bed in the morning . . . lovely lovely bed . . .
Alright, there's my gesture to decency. Now let it begin. How the fuck do people get through an undergrad degree without learning how to write a reasonable introduction and conclusion to a paper? And why do they use so many rhetorical questions? How am I supposed to clean that up? Fuck. If you pay tuition do you just get passed automatically, or what? Where's the education? Where's the love? Ah, fuck everything, ever.