Two weeks! I went two weeks!

I work in a doctor's office. I'm the assistant manager. Around this time last year, I left the doctor's office for another doctor's office. I was tired of my job and the people and the patients and the fact that I was not the manager. So, I went to this other little place by my house and was dubbed receptionist. They paid me fifty cents more an hour and I could read at work. It was awesome. Then the ladies I worked with went crazy, decided I was some sort of Satanic whore and started giving me the silent treatment. Then the doctor I was working for started spending all of his spare moments watching gay webcam porn in his office with the door open.

So, that bothered me a little.

Even worse was the day he got his own webcam in the mail. He attached it under his desk - right under the keyboard. I was a little confused at this, seeing as how he also recieved his bi-monthly shipment of viagra in the same mailbag. Oh. And his wig was always crooked. ALWAYS CROOKED. I never once looked at his actual face. Every time I had to communicate with him, the wig was our go-between.

I quit and went back to my original doctor's office. I lied and said I was going back to school and got the fuck out of there. I ran back with my tail between my legs, thanking them endlessly for taking me back even though they didn't have room for me. They made me assistant manager and gave me a dollar raise as a way of saying, 'We know how much you do around here...but. Instead of giving you what you deserve take this bullshit and stop rolling your eyes at me.' I was grateful, though.

But. The old resentments and feelings are back again. I'm finding it hard t make it through an entire day. Every time one of the girls says something like 'It's I before E except after Y' I die a little more inside. It's getting really hard to hide my annoyances. At least once a day, when asked why someone in the office did something, I answer 'because they're fucking retards'.

I have a second job in a lab that I love. I have friends who work there, there is absolutely no customer service involved. They want me there full time, and the manager sat me down and explained all the quasi-shady ways he was going to give me enough raises so they could at least match what I'm making at the doctor's office. Only thing is, the office and the lab are right fucking next to each other. We even share a lunchroom. I'd feel so guilty, I think...Leaving again after only six months back after everything they've done to try to make me more comfortable.

But it's only a matter of time befre I stop imagining jumping across the exam table jungle-cat-style and clawing someone's eyes out and start actually doing it.

I love my Brown-Brown Burrito.

I'm in the basement. The door is closed. I am sad because I know that at some point, the door must be opened, and I will be required to climb the stairs. And it is a war zone up there. Except. Nobody really realizes it but me.

My inlaws are planning this horrifically massive Godfather-esque Italian wedding. Upstairs, as far as the eye can see, are the presents. The prizes. Wrapped in pink for the wedding shower tomorrow. There are 75 of them. I am attending this shower. Me and four trillion old Italian ladies. I'm imagining floppy hats and lace gloves. Cheek-pinching. Not understanding ANYTHING ANYONE says to me. The family is angry, stressed out by planning. They are quick to the defensive and somewhat hostile. Tony brought pizza for dinner. Pizza that he made himself at the restaurant he used to work at. He was proud of it - it was cute. His sister ate once slice and said, 'Well. It's not DOMINO'S'.

I responded by flipping the dining room table over and tearing my shirt in two - you know, Hulk-style - and screaming WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU PEOPLE CAN'T YOU EVER BE HAPPY WITH ANYTHING STOP YELLING AT MY FUCKING DOG I AM SLEEPING IN MY GODDAMNED CAR TONIGHT BECAUSE I CAN'T TAKE ANYMORE. You know. In my head. That's what I did inmyhead. Actually, I grabbed my precious Annabanana and took her for a thirty minute walk in the rain. In the cold, Canadian rain.

I think that things are a little tense between his family and I because yesterday, Tony told me that we're not "allowed" to bring the Banana when we come to my sister-in-law's wedding. And we're supposed to be here for a week. I can barely go seven hours without my Brown-Brown Burrito...let alone seven DAYS. I told Tony that they could go ahead and cross me off the guest list. So. I was gone for a couple of hours today, leaving Tony alone with his mom. They talked about it and, according to him, 'she was upset but everything is fine now'. He won't tell me what was said and I'm a little irritated that I was left out of the negotiations. Mostly, I'm just curious to know if she said anything bad about me.

Bet she did.

Jesuschristforfuck.

I am trying not to cry.
He says things like, 'One last chance. Say the word and we won't leave. We won't go.'
He follows this with...'WE'RE FUCKING GOING. THERE'S NO WAY WE'RE NOT GOING'.
I am confused.
I point out that normal people don't drive all the way to Canada in the middle of the night with their "check engine" light on. I say that maybe if we had more than one car, it would be different. The risk wouldn't be so. Risky.
'...', he says, 'We HAVE another car'.
I turn and scream in my loudest, scariest voice that that car doesn't fucking work. It doesn't fucking start; It doesn't fucking run.
Because it doesn't. It doesn't work.

And I am furious beyond language, beyond gestures, beyond loud, guttural screams...I am fucking pissed off that he doesn't give a shit if we break down and get stranded on the way. He doesn't give a shit that we can't afford this trip, that we can't afford the time off work, that we can't survive without a fucking car.

He says: 'At least if it breaks down in Canada my parents will help us with the repair costs.'

And I think I'm dead inside now.
Bury me in my smashed and worthless car.
...put it on his parents' tab.

So. My little brother's band concert. They did a ten-minute tribute to the movie Top Gun. This is the grand finale. Battle Hymn of the Republic, or some shit. There wasn't a dry eye or an empty shoulder holster in the house.
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So, ah...I guess you're all wondering why I, uh, called you here today...
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It took us ten minutes to get the hook out. But he lived. I swear.
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Ever since I can remember my grandparents have always worn velcro shoes. I think they're growing younger.
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Bow down.

Clarity ebbs and flows.
This time of year has been historically hard for me.
People always seem to die or almost die or decide not to let my husband or me back into the country just about every year around spring-time.

The weather gets warm and I get itchty. The trees bud and I panic, wishing desperately for the snow to come and cover everything around me like a big frozen blanket. It dampens the sound. Winter is so quiet.

All for now. At work. I hate work.
Yesterday decided in a fit of paranoia that all my phone calls are bugged here. Am now over it.

Tony blames It on my "genius".
This is why he's awesome.