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BSC, how i've missed thee

Today Dan had all-day appointments, which left me home to take care of the dogs, one of whom has over the course of this one-week attention-sharing relationship, become more demanding than JLo. Rascal scratched at the door to go out approximately thirteen seconds after each time he got inside from going out. I couldn't leave him outside tied up alone, because the neighborhood boys were out in force with the sole aim of torturing my puppy while my back was turned. So i spent approximately 75% of my midterm-devoted day occupying the dogs by outside in the drizzle. By the time Dan came home at 6pm i was ready to let Rascal go play on the interstate.

Then, at about 6:30, with Dan moaning upstairs of sickness and Rascal scratching to go outside for the hundred-and-fiftieth time today, i snapped.

"I need to get out of this house," I said, with the finality that i would punch through the glass door if leaving did not happen soon.
"I am going to the gym."
Which proved a slight technical problem, considering i am now too poor to be a paying member. However, nothing can deter a crazed woman about to throw her dog onto I95. I downloaded a free one-week pass under my new name and went upstairs to Dan's computer to print it out.

"We're out of ink," Dan said.
This was met with my incredulous stare.
"Are you telling me that you can't print it?" I said in my mother's most irritating voice.
"Well, there's no more ink!" Dan snipped, irritated.
I walked out of the room silently and continued to assemble my gym clothes, in a fashion that indicated that Dan was GOING to get that pass to print, if he wanted to wake up in the morning with a scalp. Several moments later he produced a printed copy. He saw in my eyes that i was about to tear my fist into his computer monitor and wrip out the e-mail myself, if that would allow me to get out of the fucking house.

Thank God for the stupid gym. After two hours of sweating to cable, i feel moderately better.

Being unemployed feels kind of like being in highschool, in that i think about killing myself about as often as KISS108 plays a song by Kelly Clarkson. I have no job, which means no purpose, no identity, no reason for existing, no value i am adding to the universe. I even sound as lame as i did in highschool, see? I am becoming a value vaccume, sucking value from the world, sucking air and water and perfectly good microwave popcorn, all that could be used by people who fucking DO something for a living. Me, i do nothing but apply to jobs that do not even respond, compounding my faioling FAIL FAIL FAILure of a life. Gosh, this even sounds like one of my highschool diary entries. Dear Diary, Today i ate something, I am such a fucking LOSER! I should kill myself and then listen to Nirvana. Not in that order, though.

At the gym i exercized an a cardio machine for an hour and a half, and the lack of my life's purpose started to fade into the background of E! News! Live! Did you know that Wilmer Valderama has his own show on MTV now? Enthralling!

Now if only i can figure out how to pay for the gym on a longterm basis. These days I visit Wholefoods and scavenger for free samples. I cross back and forth across the store from one lump of pate to anouther. I put a bite in my mouth, nodding my head and pretending to read the label. "This is good," i try to indicate with my nodding, "I am seriously considering its purchase, i just need to try anouther quick sample..."

This is not a lasting solution. I must get a job or i may not live to see 25.

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