Turns The Love To Anger.

I made it to work early because I have fuck all to do. They asked me to stay late last night because they had fuck all for me to do. 'Yes please if you could just stay, walk around the mall a few times, come back to your desk, go onto some websites, take some duolingo lessons, walk around the mall some more, and maybe this time look a bit more brooding. We may have something we may need you to read in a moment, but most likely not, perhaps another trip around the mall?'

I'm not saying I can't do it or that I won't do it, but even for me there is a moment when even I have a hard time pretending it isn't completely ridiculous.

And getting home last night was a monumental clusterfuck of why me. I should have called Uber, but I wanted to work on my French and I just couldn't handle a conversation with someone with an even weaker grasp on the English language then they have on the geography of Los Angeles, but I should have given it a try. The busses never came or they just passed us by. I called, and had a nice conversation with someone at Metro, and he assured me I wasn't the first person to complain, and I assured him I in no way found that surprising, but eventually, and I mean at an hour that would make most prostitutes blush (8:23 pm) I managed to make it through my front door and throw my face into a bowl of Hormel vegetarian chili. I really couldn't manage anything more fancy.

I've booked myself on two more gigs of undetermined duration, but (and I hope I'm hallucinating or it's a typo) I think one of them is supposed to be six months long. I don't know how I emailed my way into that nightmare. I must have been delirious, but I will have to find a way to get out of that even if it involves syphilis and a catatonic fit.