I've not really been at my most collected when it comes to thoughts. Things have went pretty wrong the past few days in certain places- some I actually embrace somewhat, but others have been making me almost ill-and now and again I've not been like myself at all.
For example, the other day, my alarm clock failed. I had loads planned in the way of decorating and getting things organised for the flat, but my 9 o'clock alarm failed to sound, and I woke up at 13:50. My dad was supposed to be coming at 10, and because I was unconscious after night shift, I missed 7 calls from him on my silenced mobile downstairs. I was so angry that I went through to the room from wich i now type to you, and picked up a set of bongo drums. I then proceeded to cave in the alarm clock with it. Smashed it to pieces- which I wouldn't normally have done, cause I'm not an angry person as anyone likely to read this entry will know. I also had a heated argument with my brother that escalated into telling him exactly what I think of him (of which I will make no mention here, because some things are best left unillustrated by words on the internet.) Again, something I perhaps would not have done, but in this instance it was a long time coming.
Money has been tight but mainly because I didn't do my sums right, and put aside too much to pay bills and not enough to... you know... live! I'm sure I'll crack this mortgage shit, trial and error. The decorationg feels like it's never going to fucking end, mainly because each coat of paint takes twelvefannygarglinghours to dry- but again, we'll get there, and my living room will look fanbloodytastic.
Call centres have been plaguing me, and I have threatened Capital One with legal action under the Data Protection Act (1998), if they contact me again despite me giving express instruction to discard the personal information they hold on me as I did not authorise them to have it. They call looking for another individual who does not live at this address, and several times I have told them that individual does not live here, but they dont seem to be able to get that through their heads. Another one I have threatened is MoreThan. They're also on thin fucking ice. I have been thinking of various lengthy tirades of abuse to deal with future telemarketers.
- Is there a canteen in your workplace? Is there an oven ? How wide is the door? is it large enough to fit your head totally inside?
- May I speak to your manager?.... How many staff do you employ? Why? because between them they have about 4 brain cells!!
- On your way home tonight, why not make a detour off the nearest cliff and make the world that wee bit better?
- Please hold the line. *sets phone down, switches on Rick Astley and walks away.*
Telemarketers are people (I suppose). They are just doing jobs, that's true. But if I am treated like a number, and they insist on wasting my time, and clogging up my phone line, then I shall waste their time and make them feel like idiots. They call me up uninvited unexpected and unwanted to my own home. I think as harshly toward them as I do to Door-to-door salesmen, Mormons and Jehovah's Witnesses- Believe me, I am the last person they want to try and share the "good news" with. I've had some fun with them in the past when I still lived at mums, but should they darken my doorway in future, they'll wish they hadn't got up that morning.
To round this session off, a friend of mine asked me today if I owned bathroom scales. I didn't take offence, but as a general statement; why do people even have them in their homes? Why would someone want to own an object that has the capacity to upset you every time you look at it? Seems like masochism. At the very least I suppose it would be rather like having a narcoleptic dog- Sometimes I would forget I had it, occasionally I would trip over it, and if one day I did stand on it, I would only look down in sheer, unbridled disappointment.
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