To The Universe
I’m not sure who’s in charge of the vagina vs. penis wars around here, but I have some issues to lay before the court. I want to know who decided that, even when a woman is working full time and commuting 20 miles to and from work, she is still responsible for dishes, laundry and homework. And why, when a man does do a few of these things, a man expects great fireworks and a blow job for doing them. I want to know why a man can fall asleep in his chair guilt free, but a woman is a neglectful bitch if she watches the NCIS episodes she’s missed. And I’d really like to know why my writing for the last three years means absolutely nothing, but I’m supposed to be right on board with every piddly over-the-top idea for Cub Scouts the male counterpart decides is extra specially important when I’m trying for forget I have any responsibilities at all. I can be reached on my cell phone at any time, since everyone you’ve put in my life has decided I’m at their beck and call. And in case you missed it, I’m very resentful.
To my NaNoWriMo manuscript
I’ve neglected you, complained about you, and thought about deleting you. Are you sure we’re not married?
To All The Walking Penises I’ve Had To deal with lately
I am not in charge. I can only do what I’m told. If I do something different, I will lose my fucking job. It’s not about YOU or what I do or don’t do for you. I am doing my JOB. And when you assholes come in and treat newer employees like shit, you just make it easier to treat you like a number. Once you’re regulated to a number, you only get what you get. I don’t know what’s up with you all, but your last name doesn’t mean shit, your past history here doesn’t mean shit and I don’t have to fucking bend over for your kids either.
To The Dirt Faced Okie Boys
You were awesome last weekend. All I can say is that I expected more whining, more complaining and less fun than ya’ll gave me when we went camping in the pouring rain. It was totally worth it and I’m glad we did it.
To The Universe