It started around 6:30am. I was having a really nice dream. and then suddenly, for some reason, we were in the bathroom. I thought I’d go while we were there. Big mistake. I woke up just as I released half the pee in my bladder. I was petrified— I couldn’t believe it had really happened, or that I’d really done it, especially in bed next to my BOYFRIEND. Like, are you kidding me? I think I lay there 20 minutes before I convinced myself that he actually was asleep and that everything was gonna be ok. I slowly got up, so as not to wake him, and crept to the bathroom because I still somehow had to pee after soaking my half of the bed. I was so worried he would roll over in it while I was gone, but when I got back he was in the same position. I didn’t know what to do— he had to wake up in about an hour for work, plus it was embarrassing as all héll; so I laid a thick blanket over the top of my pee, changed my pants, and laid back down like nothing ever happened. I actually got in a panic putting on my underwear— he moved/made a noise, and I thought he was awake and worried he would roll into the wet spot so I threw my undies on backwards and had to wear them like that until he left at 8:30am. It was so uncomfortable and the whole time I was so paranoid and scared that he knew or that he could smell it. Plus that awkward time after I first laid down— I wasn’t quite sure if the comforter was wet, and then I was worried my blanket didn’t cover all of the wet spot and he could feel it, and then I was cold from being uncovered, and just all of this anxiety and worry built up. After about 10 minutes I got lucky and he woke up and went to pee. It was great, I fixed the bed and my undies really quick and fell asleep right after he came back to bed. I don’t know if he ever knew. I sincerely hope not. I’m so dämn embarrassed it’s painful.
Work wasn’t much better. The boss made me look for a file for the better part of an hour, just to tell me the file didn’t have the survey in it and that she basically didn’t need it anyway. Thanks for wasting all of my time. Then some more of our lovely renters called and chewed me out. The biggest problem there is the renters are so bïtchy. Nothing is ever getting fixed the way they want it to, so they call and let me know. While they’re at it they tell me that we’re garbage lol. This dude was particularly hilarious because he had the gall to ask for my name after I’d told him J was home and that I didn’t know exact details, that I’d have to call J to find out anything (and didn’t know if she’d answer because it was like 4:20). I was just like dude, I’m a secretary. That won’t get you far. But ok, here you go! Directly afterwards, J called to inform me that my last Facebook post was of a house that had burnt down. So that’s a gem. I had to delete that, but I don’t think I’m replacing it with anything. S can suck it. Our Facebook page doesn’t get any dämn notable attention anyway. Lastly, the cherry on the sundae— DKL. The bïtch usually talks shït about me beside my desk but not to my face, you know, just in snotty comments to others. This time she really had balls tho. I mean, I’d said barely two words to her the entire day, I’d just been working on my stuff the whole time. She gets an offer for one listing while I’m there, and she tells J about it. She apologizes to J for her folder being different than usual, but J isn’t really listening (nor does she care) because I am the one who handles all of that. So DKL brings her weird folder and throws it on my desk without explanation (to me, I only have the other info from overhearing them talking). So I do the normal thing and add the offer to the Activity Report. The only other thing is to organize the file for the agent. But I don’t. Eventually she passes by and decides to inform me— “When you’re done with my file, just sit it back in my chair. I need to add a form and copy a couple of things.” I kindly inform her that she can have it if she needs it, as I’ve already added it to the Activity Report. She picks it up, thanking me at first— then she opens it and her face changes. “Are we not putting in prongs and fixing these up anymore?” Well, what’s the point in wasting my time when you don’t even have your file in the correct folder? Your folder is one with binding prongs and pockets. The folder you need is a regular file folder, which I provide at my desk for everyone. I also hole punch the folder and add prongs to the top for everyone. It’s easy peasy, it’s always the same— and yet she suddenly has to make it difficult and be really rude about it for no reason. Like why is it so hard to just put it in a regular file folder? I explained to her that I didn’t do the prongs or mess with her folder because I didn’t understand what she was doing with her folder, if she had some purpose or something. I just don’t see a point in organizing it for her when she would only mess it up, and then I would have to transfer it to a closing file myself anyway. And why put more prongs in a folder that already comes with prongs? That’s so self defeating and stupid. Plus her folder with pockets can’t be filed in a filing cabinet. no spot for a label on it. Everything about it is silly. It’s like she just woke up and reached for some silly thing to argue about. Even as she was walking away she was hateful, saying she guessed she would put it in the correct file folder IF she could even find one anywhere. so needlessly hateful. Everyone knows I keep all of these extra things at my desk. I’m the person they get all their office supplies from. Why can’t she just ask, rather than being so god dämn hateful? I hate the woman, she’s all sugar and sweet and fake fake fake. She puts on this sweet voice and demeanor and then she really lays it on, but underneath she’s sour as old milk. She’ll tell you how thankful she is for you, but only after turning in 8 article submissions 2 days late and demanding they all be featured in the paper. Then she’ll stand by your desk and bïtch about how you didn’t make any of her submissions home of the week, you gave it to B instead. “Typical,” she’ll roll her eyes at this. Well. . . Maybe you’d have home of the week if you would actually turn your stuff in on time, like B did. These women are in their 60’s and 70’s and act more like irresponsible children than I, a 22 year old woman does.
Anyway after that really crappy day, I went to babe’s house. We finally got our MoviePass cards, so we went to see Deadpool 2 tonight and it was really great. Way better than the first movie. The only problem was that the movie didn’t start until 7:20, so we had to spend some time with his family. His grandma and grandpa were the only ones home, and they were babysitting babe’s nephew. We played with the nephew for quite a while actually, even got him to stand up on his own a lot. He’s so young and he has such buff baby legs lol. His grandma, as always, ruined my week. The dreaded week of Florida has arrived. They’re leaving this Saturday, returning next Saturday. That means he’s staying over Friday and then we’re going to his house Saturday and staying there the weekend to care for the puppies. He’s even talking like he wants me to stay over all week and drive back & forth to work. I might, but I don’t know. I imagine he’ll be lonely. The puppies, too. I already know they’ll be painfully needy with everyone gone, too, so he’ll definitely need help. I’m just sad to have yet another weekend ruined. Why are they always going somewhere stupid all the time?
His grandma also informed us that his grandpa has a job interview in TN! They could be moving if his grandpa gets the job. He finally asked me, would it be ok if this happens for me to live with you? I said yes, of course— but made the mistake of asking more. I mean, I learned somewhat about his financial situation and it does look pretty ok. He makes about $340 a week and he can pretty well cover his car payment, car insurance, and phone bill and have money left over. We could manage living together. This was an important discovery, as I have spent the last few months doubting he could live with me at all because I was convinced he was too poor. However, I also learned something I didn’t want to know. I asked, “What if he doesn’t get the job, though? What if they decide not to move?” He acted like he wouldn’t move out at all then, like he would just keep living with them if they didn’t go. I feel like I’m always second choice to his family. He wants to live with me. . . But only if he loses his home and I’m his absolutely last option, short of giving everything up and following them to TN. Like, I want him to want to live with me because he loves and misses me. I want him to want me, not be strong-armed into my apartment and my life by circumstance. I want him to want it, not to be stuck with it. But he makes me feel like he’s stuck.
Tomorrow will be a better day.