Well, how does it feel

Nope, D'Angelo ain't gonna save me this time. I'm still at work, kiddies. My cover letter sample was pathetic, I have to dig a bit more to find a decent one from way back yonder. 5 years ago I was in the same mess I'm in now. I really can't describe the resentment I feel. I've been reduced to this. My only joy is knowing these twits are going to be up shit's creek when I leave.



I don't know why I was so scared about what would happen to me, maybe it was just the princesses and their insecurities rubbing off on me. I figure if I'm going to be underpaid and invisible, I might as well disapparate totally. Like one of Harry Potter's house elves. I'd love to borrow his wand right now, good lord, the things I'd be doing with it to these offices.



Back to the NY Times, the agencies, and all the accoutrements I'll need: manicure, sensible shoes, tailored suits, a new haircut, dazzling makeup, and a pressed, clean, polished look. I managed to pull it off back in 2001, I guess the time is now. I cannot believe the choice to leave has been taken from me. If you could only see the paystub I received yesterday....good god, I can't even pay my bills in full! I'll never own anything, go anywhere, have decent vacations or a personal life I can afford if I don't get out of here in the next year. Why the fuck on god's green earth am I always stuck fixing other people's messes? Who made this crock my destiny? It fills me with absolute rage.



And these dates are a fucking joke. Like I'm supposed to be a trained seal. I think Mrs. Osborne was correct (as RD calls her)--I have become sharper, darker and just plain harder with each passing year. The idea that I'm supposed to mellow is absolutely amusing to me. I've gotten more intense, angry, and willful as the years have gone by. Am I a child in reverse? Or is the real me?



I still have no answer.