Make My Day, Make My Night

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Oh man, what is wrong with me?

I'm suffering for sure. I've caught a cold from sleeping under my window. You see, my window still has the air conditioning from the summer in it. I don't want to take it out of the window because I have absolutely nowhere to put that big motherfucker. It's the size of a fucking washing machine, and it took a fork lift to bring it into my window. Check that shit out.

As big as this bitch is though, she still leaves gaps to the left and right of the window where it's accordion wings don't span long enough. The the genius maintenance men here propped a piece of styrofoam up in the window, to fill the gap.  It worked well in the summertime, keeping the cool in, but in the wintertime, it can't do well enough to keep the cold out.
   

Now I like to sleep at the foot of my bed. Why? Because I've always been that way. I hate the heads of beds and I tend to do that when I have a bed that I sleep in long enough. When I buy a bed I generally buy neutral headed beds exactly because of this. Well, my head is directly under the open window, and it picked up a draft that night. So that made me a sick bitch the next morning.

I hate being a Skek, but that's what I appear to be, just looking at myself in a photograph that someone was nice enough to post of me on FaceBook. No, don't ask, I will not tell you where it is, all I can say is that looking upon it makes me ill. Everyone thinks they look a certain way to the world and photographs either support their view or dismantle it. Photographs of myself dismantles me. I'm under the impression that I look a million times better than my image portrays. The way my body looks, the way clothes hang on it, the roundness of my features. I shake my head....this is not me.

I slip into further depression. This is just more bad news in a week of bad news. I knew that I was about to get bad news this week anyway, but not so much in such a short length of time. A string of suffering that threatens to make me cry out in agony and then slip into a lake of dark pitch, finding bottom, 'getting low'. I can think of nothing to lift my spirits any more. Nothing keeps the pain at bay and gives me hope for a better tomorrow.

There is a ring from my doorbell. I think to ignore it but it comes back a second time more insistent. I open the door to see the Bat Faced Bitch on the other side. Yeah? I ask her. "Are you the one that upgrades the Internet?" What? Updates? No. "Because I'm trying to get on the Internet and I can't and I'm trying to figure out why." So I explain to her that sometimes you can get a WIFI signal but you're not allowed to participate if its not open to the public. "Oh, so it's locked," she looked at me, nodding, realizing her predicament. I didn't even realize what she was saying either until later. She was asking me what was wrong with the Internet connection that I provide. I told her that it was locked, so now she can no longer get it free.

"Is that why I keep getting put in your administration password?" Yeah, that's why. She looked me up and down, scowled, "Okay," and walked off back down the hall. I closed the door, went back to my desk and my laptop and the Internet...and I smiled. She had made my day.

Hobobob