Drunk & Unedited

This post is most likely going to jump from place to place, and well…that is how my brain works. And other than a few edits I might see here and there as I’m writing this…it’s unedited, like most of my shit. I’m drunk, so I guess I’m sorry for stuff.

Tonight I was doing the dishes, crushing cans in  the garage, and folding clothes. now I’m making this post, not much time to play video games, but ironically I’d rather be typing a bunch of stupid shit to people I don’t know than playing Fallout 4 of Madden 16 while I’m fucked up.

For the few of you that read my posts, I’m glad you do, but in all reality, I don’t know you.

When I was in the bathroom I was thinking something, why? I don’t really know. But I was thinking it nonetheless. I’m 32 years old, my fiance is 28 years old. Speaking of which, that is not a big issue now, but when you say shit like, “Oh, yea I was a senior in high school when that song came out,” and then she says, “I was a freshman in  junior high,” That shit makes you feel old.

When she was 18 I was 22, not a huge deal. But on the other hand when I was 18 she was 14. Makes me feel weird, granted I didn’t know her until she was 23, but it is still weird.

Back to my original thought…I hope. Her dad has a good job, he makes a lot of money. My dad, he has a good job, he also makes a good amount of money. Me and Shannon on the other hand are fucking poor, granted we live in a house (public housing, mainly because I was on government assistants and am disabled), even with that decrease in rent, we still struggle every mouth.

And then my kids mom called asking for money that I don’t have. I’m going to stop there before I dig a hole I’m not trying to dig.

But…It sucks man, do I have to wait another 40 years before I start making enough money to make me feel as if I have a cushion? And she works 2 jobs, I don’t know how the fuck she does it.

My company just switched me to 10 hours a day for 4 days. You would think, “Alright, I get Friday’s off now,” but then you realize that working 10 hours a day doesn’t leave you with enough time to wipe your ass.

Don’t get me wrong, I love my job…I just rather  work 8 hours a day for 5 days than 10 hours a day for 4 days.

Makes me feel like all the shit Shannon wants me to do need to be saved until Friday. No washing clothes, no folding clothes, no doing dishes…fuck man, I got a life too.

And that scares me too, because we are going to move back to the Pacific Northwest soon, Oregon to be specific. It’s really hard for someone with a physical disability to find a job, so…as far as I know I’m going to end up back on government assistance and falling back into depression because I get interviews but end up with those who assume that because I talk deeper and slower than most I must be retarded, or I cant physically do the job in the first place.

Laws are in place, I get that; but discrimination still exists.

I have two…two…two college degrees motherfucker. I’m not someone in a wheelchair that is trying out for the NFL. I know my shit, but just because you assume something, without ever testing it. And for some reason people think that is right even though the law says otherwise.

So I’m expecting to end up back on government assistance while I get a bunch of interviews where all the employers say something to the effect of, “We don’t think you have enough experience.”

I totally forgot everything else I was going to talk about…so, there you go on another episode of my talking to myself.

 

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