grumpytimes.

Hello out there. Schizophrenic though it may be, I'm about to negate that last post with a much-needed List of Grievances, just because I am running low on smokes and maybe this will help. In short, let's call it Why I Am So Done With This Right Now.

The Internship has gone from making me feel altruistic and righteous to making me want to slam some small skulls in with a baseball bat, and it's the same kind of frustration that arises after any job. I know I felt pretty murderous when I was a waitress, but there were ways to vent that steam, and besides, I left every night with a wad of cash in my apron, so it was suffering for something. This, now, is just annoying - kids don't listen to me, kids make fun of my German and then don't listen to me, and today, I just left early after prowling around the off-limits, third-floor attic (think where Bastian reads The Neverending Story), after being informed in one class that I was simply "unneeded" (which was fine), but then the next class just wasn't there, and I was waiting around when I thought fuck it, I don't care, I'm going. And what am I doing this for - I don't regret it, not yet, but goddamn, I could do without it so much. 7 a.m. wake-up for 3 hours of nothingness and 1 hour of being yelled at by Austrian kids.

The rooming situation is still silent and awkward and just exhausting; and I realize I was so happy this weekend because I had the room to myself. It's silly and shallow but stressful, because where the hell am I supposed to go? And if I hear one more shitty chick-rock song--last night, Grandaddy's "Hewlett's Daughter" came on, and when she changed it 30 seconds in I fought the urge to shout "NEIN LASS ES."

Broke. I am broke. I am always broke. I am always hungry and always broke, and being hungry makes me exhausted, but having to withdraw from my bank account for the third time in as many days is stressful, because money, when I am ever going to have money, if I keep going the way I'm going the answer is probably never, and I wonder with a laugh whether I'd be much cheaper to support if I was dead and then I wonder how serious I am about that, so I just keep being hungry and think this is stupid, and when I eat it's disgusting and I'm sure this foretells of some deep psychological troublement between Rachel and Food but right now it's just making me 'edgy,' as my mother is so fond of saying.

EVERYONE ON THE OTHER SIDE OF THE PLANET SEEMS TO HAVE FALLEN OFF THE GLOBE. Or they are crazy, like my mother, who is counting down the days until we can go to a casino together and I'm really not too hot to do that. And there are few things worse than waiting for a response, especially when it's something as meager as a "hello how is your life," and it's wearing me down. Like all my clothes are worn down. And I have no money to replace them. Oh, and I can't do laundry, aside from washing it in the sink or dragging it across Vienna to someone else's dorm.

Lastly and largestly, the Motherfucking Goddamn SonofaBitch PieceofShit PainintheAss Euro Soccer Tournament. You want to go lie in the big, rose-filled park by the Hofburg palace, and read? Oh, sorry, we've closed it, because 50,000 drunken Europeans are amassed around the giant megascreen TV broadcasting the soccer game that's blocking off the entire street, and we've closed all the museums, too, because why would you want to go in a museum when there is FOOOTBALLL!?!? Also, don't try sleeping, because whoever won the day's game will invariably be drunkenly celebrating in the street until dawn. I'm tempted to buy my own flag, wear it as a cape, and go screaming through the streets shouting "CHINA!!!! GO CHINA!!! EURO SOCCER CHAMPIONSHIP CHAMPIONS!!!" Or just start carrying a gun.

And sure, I have no right to complain, but I never did honestly. But again, like the Internship, I step back and think, "Why am I here, what am I doing here, what does this matter?" And it doesn't, at all, which somehow is not liberating anymore but just a waste, of money and time and energy. I know what I want to do and I haven't been doing it, because I can't. And this is all whine but lordy, lordy, lordy, does the Going Home sound sweeter by the second.

In the meantime, did you know you can watch the ENTIRETY of the original Twilight Zone for free online? My latest fantasy - Rod Serling shows up in my room, telling an unseen audience how "Rachel Richardson, 21 years of age, recently published and combating anxiety and ennui in Vienna, was about to realize the preciousness of her precociousness as she briefly ventured into...THE TWILIGHT ZONE." And then I'd be all "FUCK ROD SERLING I CAN HEAR YOU AHHHHH" and then some freaky shit would probably go down. By which I mean because I'd be in the Twilight Zone. Not because Rod Serling was in my room. Doo-doo-doo-do-doo-doo-doo-do.