I hate you all you fuckers.

Not you my friends. The twats at work.

Why is it that they can bleat and moan and whinge and whine about their 'bloated stomach's' their 'infected wisdom tooth' their 'discontinued phones' that their customers have and they all find it perfectly acceptable but if I let out so much as a sigh they're all going on about how I'm 'miserable'.

I know I moan (it's part of the reason that I started this blog) but I do like to think that I do it with a bit of wit and enthusiasm... I also think that a lot of the time I have good reason to fucking moan. Like when I've spent hours working on a deal only to find theres some shitty red-tape situation with the network that no one has ever warned me about that means I'm going to lose it and miss my target. Or when the manager decides (without warning, request or later praise) that I'm going to be responsible for creating a new corporate contract and gives me no support while I'm doing it. Admittedly sometimes I just moan because I'm a bit achy but so do those fuckers.

I had to cope with one of the ugly sisters doing a happy dance at the prospect of me being away for two days next week today. She got even more excited when I said that I might not come back. I'm not sure if she thinks it's funny or whether she knows it's not and still does it anyway. Whatever; she's still an insensitive cunt. I really cannot wait to leave.