No one told me that once I submitted my final grades I would get three or so emails from students wanting to know EXACTLY why they got the final grade they got, since THEIR calculations have them at, evidently, much higher marks. And you know what I want to say? Fuck you, Student. I went over and over those fucking grades and gave people BETTER grades than they deserved, for the most part. I gave NO ONE a grade lower than what they deserved and where the fuck do you get off telling me how to do my job?

But of course, I'll go back over it all and double and triple think every one and make sure I didn't jilt them out of the grade they think they deserve. Kill me again.

Mid-move and the internet connection in my room at the 'rents house goes in and out. I am still wallet-less and phone-less, and the lack of easy communication with the outside world is beginning to drive me a little buggy.

You in Ohio, You in AnonymousNorCal, you in Long Beach, you in Oregon, you in New York, I thought of you all on Christmas and am sorry I could not send more personalized greetings. You especially I wanted to call. But alas. No phone, no number, no room without random family member in which to do the talking. I thought of you. Did you get my telepathic greetings? Aye, some girls still believe in Santa. Some girls stopped believing in everything when they were 12 or so. I? I still believe in telepathic holiday and romance and get well greetings.

And ghosts, but that's another entry altogether.

I am sad, a bit, to leave this house, as I pack a box at a time and exhaust myself lifting and sorting and remembering past lives as I unpack them and place them in the new apartment. Today I spent an hour re-reading some of my grad school work and just laying on a bare mattress, staring at the ceiling.

Then there are moments like a few minutes ago, when Dad waltzed in here, the kitchen, and demanded that I drop what I was doing to help him find the cordless phone (that he doesn't really need except he doesn't want to get up from the television to answer it when it rings)...then I am happy to be getting the fuck outta here. My Christmas check from Dottie will go straight to the IRS...long story but they're hounding me for over a grand, and it's time I got them off my ass. I'm going to spend the next few months getting very little for myself except out of debt. Not that I'm in that much debt, but any at all makes me nutty, and I'm already nutty as it is...lord knows I don't need any help from a dollar sign in my dreams.

I need to go to bed. I'm tired and have a huge work day ahead of me...work from 4:30am-12noon, then more moving. I think tomorrow I'll take the TV and DVDs over to the apartment, along with any more tapes and things. Also need to start sorting through 300+ cd's and start boxing up the ones I want to take in and sell. Right-o.

I've been doing a lot of relationship-thinking lately...especially after doing all that self hell book work. I think I give mixed signals to people all the time. Tough exterior, soft interior that I wish to G-d people could see but can't seem to allow them to. Then I get pissed when they don't pry me open with a crowbar and see for themselves...as though they don't have that telepathy I want so badly for them to use.

The problem now is, how the fuck do I change that act? It's been my modus operandi for well over a decade now. How the hell do I project a strong-and-independent-yet-needy woman exterior so that people on the outside looking in know what they're getting just by looking at the menu?

In this meat market of the world, how do I make myself into a steak?

Posted by twids at 9:17 pm