I've been piddling around my nasty house all weekend, trying to get it back in livable condition. I attacked the kitchen early on, but the southern July heat got the best of me. The weeds have grown up outside on T.A.'s end of the house so bad they're blocking her a.c. and the one in my bedroom can't cool the whole house. She just got back from Aunt Moses' to borrow a weed whacker to fix the problem.
I don't have an excuse for the state of my house. I guess I'm just triflin'. I come home from work, fire up the webby video offerings and lay down. I close my eyes and listen, trying to push all the batshit crazy Twatwaffle stress out of my head.
I've threatened, to coworkers, on Facebook, on here, to quit at least once a day.
I think we all know that's not going to happen.
My house will be paid for.. Lord willin'.. in 5 years. My plan has been that once the truck was paid for I'd be able to use that extra money to start building a privacy fence and getting the house back in shape.
And nails. I can't wait to get my nails done.
If I take a job making less money.. and any job I get in driving distance will be for considerably less.. I won't be able to afford to build a fence, fix the steps, screen in the front porch, etc. By Friday at 5 o'clock, none of that mattered, but it's Sunday, I've calmed down and realize I need to just stick it out.
I guess I just need to start medicating myself before work every day like I did when I worked for Bossholio. His replacement was interviewed last week. He looks just like him. Like.. if they were separated at birth. His name is Vern, he lives alone in a condo with two Pomeranians and his license plate says "DRCHILI."
He has dogs, so he has a soul and he laughs at the drop of a hat, so he has a sense of humor. Two things Bossholio didn't have. He'll probably start on Tuesday, if his drug test comes out okay. He's not the reason I need to take a chill pill every day.
It's Twatwaffle, who is psycho and ignorant. It's Thelma, who runs to Twatwaffle and tells her every time I go to the bathroom, leave my desk, fart, pick my nose or take any break whatsoever. She feels this is okay because she's been "helping" me by entering orders and answering the phone. Her reasoning? I shouldn't be going to the coffee pot for a refill while she's entering a sales order.
Also, Twatwaffle runs and repeats every "private" conversation we have to Thelma.
I'm sorry I keep whining about my job. I'm as tired of bitching about it as ya'll probably are of hearing it.
The other reason I'm going to try to stick it out is, I've got plans for a new online business (yes I know, here we go again.. at least I keep trying, right) and I'll need the extra money to buy inventory. I was going to do the drop ship thing, but the more I read about it, the more I realized that you're kinda at the mercy of your supplier to ship on time and it seems like a huge headache trying to keep up with what's in stock and what isn't. So I'm going to start small, ordering stuff wholesale and maybe after 5 years I'll have enough to open a brick and mortar shop. I want to sell healing herbs and oils, spell candles, incense, tarot cards, books.. that kinda thing. Not everybody's cup of tea, I realize, but my mind keeps going back to Ye Olde Mystique Shoppe in Norfolk where I used to hang out in my teens and how I always wanted that sort of business.
Anywho, the backhoe is still going next door. I entertain thoughts of suing the britches off the a-holes, but then I take a deep breath, take a sip of coffee and stand on the porch and glare.
Not exactly a plan of action, but that's all the conflict I can muster right now.
Ya'll have a good one. I'm going to put on some tea and rest a bit, maybe work on putting some of the massive laundry pile on hangers and actually IN the closet.
We'll talk again soon.