Now that we are at home every day trying to grow a business from zero to successful in as short a time as the wolves at the door will allow, I have a little more time to surf the Internet, and a lot more time to complain. My delicate state [that is: being poor, having bills to pay, stagnation of the brain from having daytime TV on-hand, and atrophying of the muscles caused by not wanting to leave house since it would require me to wear more than my pants] lowers my rage threshold to the point of ridiculousness and makes me act like the grand mistress of the grumpiest of the grumpy old women.
Who cares that the local 6th form students leave lunch debris all over the Common every day. I DO!! Why? I don't know why, just because I do! My Loved One told me that it's my war. And he is right, but at this time I am choosing to let rage wash over me.
What else makes me go mental that didn't make me go mental before? Cold calls. Do you know that people really do phone up and try to sell you double-glazing. I honestly thought this was a quaint English joke: it's not, they called not 10 minutes ago. I live in a managed block, the tiniest bit of research would have told them that. No one in this building owns their flat. Don't phone us, phone the managing agent. But instead of saying that, I bark something like "I.SAID.NO.NOT.INTERESTED." What's happening to me? Someone please give me some business please, it's in society's best interests.
And then there's the recruitment consultants (and their associated agencies). My wrath cannot be contained in this posting. I am, in my head, compiling a special posting for you horned devils which I will unleash in due course. (Except Richard O, I like him.)
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