Thursday, July 07, 2005

Money.

I wrote this originally as a text message to my mother, but decided not to send it.
"Hi, mommy. I'm being bit***. Been snapping at the boys. I don't want to go to work. I just feel crummy. But I'm going anyway because we need the damn money. I hate dealing with the guests sometimes. It's always freaking hot and the idiots don't realize it and they come without thinking and complain that it's hot. I'm sorry, what do you want me to do about it? And I'll be stuck out on the carts, and damn I don't wanna deal with that. I wanna stay home and be a kid and be lazy some more, or cut the grass. But I'm going to go to work. Because we need the money. I hate money." It makes people miserable. And they treat it like it's God, and it's not. It's the be-all and end-all of the whole world. And it's useless pieces of paper.
I don't want to quit my job. But I don't want to do this anymore. Sometimes I don't want to live anymore. I don't want to kill myself, but sometimes I just don't want to live. And then I think about what God did for me, and I feel so selfish. And childish. Crying and throwing a fit because I don't want to go to work.
"Mommy, let me stay home today."