on my drive home from work tonight, i almost cried. but as i inhaled the sweet still-new-car smell that is Marla Singer, my tears automatically rolled back in my eyes.

it feels so blasphemous to cry in Marla's presence. she's too cool.

the reason why i wanted to cry was because of work. the past couple of weeks have been The Work Weeks From Hell. it's just so frustrating and stressful, and i don't know what to do with myself anymore. it's like, every time i'm close to finishing my project, something comes up, and i have to redesign my stuff. a step forward only causes me to take a hundred steps back. it's like a never-ending cycle of design and redesign and design again.

i can't even tell if my project manager is mad/angry/disappointed at me.

i'm also getting sick of spending my lovely saturdays at 553 Wald. saturdays are more chill than the regular work week, but i'd rather spend my saturdays at home. because that would be the ultimate chillage status.

and what sucks more is that i have no one to talk to about my stress and frustration. i'm a girl, and i can't deal with things unless i talk. but who is there to talk to?

i don't want people to tell me to go fuckin' excercise to relieve stress. that doesn't do shit, honestly. it only takes time away from more important things, such as sleep and cleaning and reorganizing my closet, all of which i haven't spent so much time on because half the time i'm not a work, i'm thinking about how to fix my design so i can get to it the next time i'm in the office.

i also don't want people telling me i shouldn't be complaining about being super busy at work because most people would gladly trade places with me. i'm not even complaining. all i want is to talk. all i need for you is to listen. you don't even have to talk back to me. just fuckin' sit there like a statue, and let me vent out my stress and frustration and sadness without being judged.

honestly, is that too much to ask?

i hope nobody tries to contact/find/talk to me until all this crap is over. and i hope nobody ever asks me about work and how it's going. because i'm going to want to bitch, and i'll be told to either (a) go excercise more; (b) stop complaining; (c) or shut up, you ungrateful bitch.

i'm seriously not being ungrateful. can't a girl be tired?

[i miss it all. all of it.]