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I am probably vibrating
Jul. 31st, 2001 09:45 amOn some obscure frequency.
I am so angry right now, it's all I can do not to throw things, smash glass and generally make a mess. I did break some glass jars on my way through the kitchen. It didn't help much.
The reason? My sister.
First, some background. Three of us 'share' a car. By share, I mean I put all the gas in it and get dropped off at work. And the little shitheads get the car to do whatever the fuck they please.
If I want to use the car? Whoa. I'm contravening the rules of the fucking Geneva convention, there. I'm not allowed to take precious social life time away from them by depriving them of a vehicle.
Over the last... 5? years I've been driving various vehicles, I have faithfully picked up the little fuckers, dropped them off, and generally done EVERYTHING to accomodate them.
They, on the other hand, are frequently LATE picking me up. Especially on mornings when I've worked all night.
Oh. Boo HOO. You had only three hours of sleep, 'cause you were out gang-fucking someone. I feel SO sorry for you.
However. Today.
I got off at 7:50, 'cause Velma came in.
And I wait.
And wait.
And wait.
Finally, at 8:15, I start calling home. I let it ring till the message thing catches it, hang up, wait, then ring again. Probably three times.
8:17. Bing. Finally, the ride is here.
"Can I use the phone? I need to call Nate and wake him up. I promised I'd call him at 8:10."
"Can't you call him from home?"
"Oh! No. He won't answer that early."
?
Indeed.
And then she informs me, "Oh. And you're such a hastle, 'cause I forgot you, and now I'm going to be late picking up Nate and late to work."
Boo fucking hoo.
Forgot?
Hello? Sister? Yes. Same flesh and blood as you.
But you forgot me.
You did not, however, forget about your personal fucktoy.
The only way I made it through the drive out to pick up the fucktoy, drop him off, and then drop her off at work, was by visualising violent accidents happening all around me.
I sped on the way home. I'm surprised I didn't get pulled over, actually, since I went by a cop doing 20 over the 60 speed limit.
No. I'm not hurt. I am angry. I put money into that car. She doesn't. Oh, they 'thank' me for putting gas in. But so what? That doesn't mean I actually get to do anything with it.
And I've tried. Apparently, her social life, her job, her life is more important than mine.
Well. Fuck her.
From now on, I'm not doing shit for her. If I'm driving, and the car needs gas, I'll put in what I need. No more.
She's lucky I didn't leave her out in Yuppiefucking West County. She got out to go wake the fucktoy, and I almost got into the driver's seat and left.
If she does it again, I will.
I am so angry right now, it's all I can do not to throw things, smash glass and generally make a mess. I did break some glass jars on my way through the kitchen. It didn't help much.
The reason? My sister.
First, some background. Three of us 'share' a car. By share, I mean I put all the gas in it and get dropped off at work. And the little shitheads get the car to do whatever the fuck they please.
If I want to use the car? Whoa. I'm contravening the rules of the fucking Geneva convention, there. I'm not allowed to take precious social life time away from them by depriving them of a vehicle.
Over the last... 5? years I've been driving various vehicles, I have faithfully picked up the little fuckers, dropped them off, and generally done EVERYTHING to accomodate them.
They, on the other hand, are frequently LATE picking me up. Especially on mornings when I've worked all night.
Oh. Boo HOO. You had only three hours of sleep, 'cause you were out gang-fucking someone. I feel SO sorry for you.
However. Today.
I got off at 7:50, 'cause Velma came in.
And I wait.
And wait.
And wait.
Finally, at 8:15, I start calling home. I let it ring till the message thing catches it, hang up, wait, then ring again. Probably three times.
8:17. Bing. Finally, the ride is here.
"Can I use the phone? I need to call Nate and wake him up. I promised I'd call him at 8:10."
"Can't you call him from home?"
"Oh! No. He won't answer that early."
?
Indeed.
And then she informs me, "Oh. And you're such a hastle, 'cause I forgot you, and now I'm going to be late picking up Nate and late to work."
Boo fucking hoo.
Forgot?
Hello? Sister? Yes. Same flesh and blood as you.
But you forgot me.
You did not, however, forget about your personal fucktoy.
The only way I made it through the drive out to pick up the fucktoy, drop him off, and then drop her off at work, was by visualising violent accidents happening all around me.
I sped on the way home. I'm surprised I didn't get pulled over, actually, since I went by a cop doing 20 over the 60 speed limit.
No. I'm not hurt. I am angry. I put money into that car. She doesn't. Oh, they 'thank' me for putting gas in. But so what? That doesn't mean I actually get to do anything with it.
And I've tried. Apparently, her social life, her job, her life is more important than mine.
Well. Fuck her.
From now on, I'm not doing shit for her. If I'm driving, and the car needs gas, I'll put in what I need. No more.
She's lucky I didn't leave her out in Yuppiefucking West County. She got out to go wake the fucktoy, and I almost got into the driver's seat and left.
If she does it again, I will.
