Rant

I'm having a bad day.

I'm fed up with the fucking headcase next door. He's got a new hobby - having vociferous arguments on the phone with random people, AT&T and UPS last I heard. And I can hear every bloody word.

I'm fed up with the fucking University for taking so long to deal with him and being so ineffective after numerous complaints, and not just from me.

I'm fed up with the fucking muppets who live on my floor, some of whom can't sit the right way on a toilet seat, and some of whom think it's acceptable to leave your leftovers lying around in the kitchen up to and beyond the point where they grow mould. Fucking disgusting.

I'm fed up with the fucking apartment block as a whole, it's dingy, full of roaches, too small and generally nasty. Whatever happens this summer, I'm getting a new pad. Fuck this.

I'm fed up with the fucking seminar that overran by 45 minutes this afternoon when I have so many other things to do.

I'm fed up with the fucking fact that I have no money and no life right now.

But then...

there's always K. Who's great. And when I got home today, there was a care package of two packets of sturdy British blu-tak in my mailbox. You have no idea how much that brightened up my day. Now my posters will stop falling on me in the middle of the night, and I can decorate my room properly.

Funny how little things can put a smile on your face. Didn't last long though - there's a grad conference this weekend, and I'm supposed to be giving a paper. My feelings towards that are about two-thirds of the way between exhilaration and terror.