A week of frustration, at the government, the news, a famous local “comedian” emailing me “don’t give me shit asshole” after asking a question about a sketch I found disturbing. Sometimes I think I don’t live, I fester. I keep my head down and squirm in my own slipstream.
There’s no work here on the border in AZ. I ran a housecleaning ad in the paper for a week ($55!) and on Craigslist (spam!) but nobody’s calling. Spent the week begging for bottom-of-the-barrel low paying shit jobs, and glad to get them.
A couple days ago I walked off a jobsite of a horrible old hoarder couple who hate each other. The husband didn’t want me there, the wife followed me around in her wheelchair telling me not to touch stuff. Every surface in the house was piled with debris. The wife was bitter, the husband wouldn’t speak to me. Every question was met with sarcasm and bile. The toilet had so much shit in, on, and around it I almost puked. I packed up my stuff and walked out with no pay. I bugged everyone I know and harvested some other work, draining and scrubbing a huge dirty Jacuzzi, raking a pricker-laden yard while unprepared for sunburn, slithering through crawlspaces.
The search terms on my stats page about the boobs post continue to roll in. This week’s pervs found my blog by searching for “Pakistini girls breasts show in running positon,” and “big booobs fucking .com in age 14and 16” (inserted as is, copied and pasted from stats). You sick bastards.
But, as I was frantically scavenging for scraps, a dictionary freelance job arrived. It’s actually thesaurus work, my task is to fit, where applicable, 1500 new words as synonyms into existing data. It’s heaven. If only I could do this all day, every day, I would be such a good girl.