nyarrrrrrrgghh

Is it wrong that I'm a little ticked off that everytime I ask about the phone being cut back on [and I've asked twice. TWICE in the month she's had to fix the goddamned thing], I get the, "I'm working on it, but we really have more important things to worry about," speal? Because each time I hear that [more than twice, as other people have asked her, hence me only asking twice] I want to kick her in the shins. You're the one who fucked up your finances, you're the one who chose [repeatedly] to live with someone who belives if you only have $12 to last a week, it's perfectly justifiable for him to spend ten of it on dinner for himself, and you're the one who assured me it'd be back before the end of the year.

I guess I'm just feeling like I could crawl out of my skin because I had to pass out and then wake up and get my dress altered. Or, rather, have the woman see what she had to do and she'll have it ready by 17th of January. Which is fine, since it wasn't much. Just take in the shoulders and bam, I should be ready to go. The shoes garnered many compliments, though I think I have to buy an insert or something because the angle is a little too much and my feet will be crying otherwise.

Oddly enough, despite numerous efforts over the past forever, the two emails I sent this morning were answered almost immediately. I'm to call Ryan this Sunday and Cass actually emailed me back. See above rantage on phone. I can live without the phone, though, if she'll just actually come along on the blasted trip next weekend.

But what's really killing me? The lack of daily Foxtrot amusement. I think you can see my soul slowly being sucked away without it. I'm a creature of habit, and if I only read one comic, I read Foxtrot, dammit. Sure, I enjoy Zits, Rose, and Get Fuzzy, and would whine like you've no idea should those stop coming out, but they haven't made it to my all time favorites yet. Soon, I guess.

It's not helping that people keep assuming that I have all the time in the world to do things for them, and then I feel guilty as I really should make the time to do some dishes or clean up, but Christ, assuming Ryan does show up for the wedding, my room needs to be overhauled. He's not a bug guy, but he ain't a midget. No matter how much I tease otherwise... Anyway, yeah, serious work needs to be done in the room that time forgot.

And now the cat is fussing and all I want to do is kill someone. Or hide and tell the world to go fuck themselves because I have HAD it, damn it.

I don't even know why. That's why it's called PMS. :p