I'm very sorry. I have to tell someone about this. I try to be the good son (and I fail almost always) and every once in a while check on my parents and see that they are 1)okay and 2)not killing one another. It sounds like a pathetic 90's joke. I am aware. Unfortunately it also depressingly accurately describes my 4th weekend off every financial period.
This week, I was not instructed to fix a TV or a computer. (I am not a wizard. I am not a Ninja. But I am pretty fucking certain having the ability to say "now leave it alone" and have your fucking parents fucking listen to you is a fucking super power. I am also suspicious of the claims my sister makes that her 'job' involves here being in Tamworth when these issues occur when I know she is getting shitfaced at Coogee the night before. But I digress)
I am currently going through a career change. I am studying Cyber Security at UTS through TAFE. I have spent 15 years of my life in retail and the only skill I have is the appropriate time to tell someone to fuck off, whilst implying that I care.
Bear with me.
Mum is good. Mum is great. She is the best motivator I know and also the first person you should ask if you want an "honest opinion". My task this weekend was to sort out a four litre bucket of receipts. I asked how and my answer was, "You know computers! You gave your father that game! Work it out!"
To my Mother's credit I found SIX bulldog clips and 23 paper clips and an unspeakable amount of irrelevant bullshit. Six fucking hours and I was amazed with the amount of crap Mum had in that fucking bucket.
I didn't do it properly, apparently.
You know what, THAT'S FUCKING FINE! EVERYTHING IS MY FUCKING FAULT! I NEED TO GO HOME AND SLEEP. i CAN'T DRIVE INTO SYDNEY CBD ANYMORE! EVERY JOURNEY ON THE EASTERN DISTRIBUTOR IS FUCKING FURY ROAD FUCKING ROAD FOR ME NOW! I'M OUT!
It's now Tuesday. I've calmed down. When I came home on Sunday my flatmates thought I was "agitated". I unloaded what had happened and Mark (a flatmate) said:
"Mate, your Mum built a fucking TARDIS. I mean, yeah, it's a shitty idea to build a TARDIS just for receipts, but she's your fucking Mum mate! You've gotta give her her just dues.
I love you Mum. But next time, call Linda. I guarantee that she is not in Tamworth.
This week, I was not instructed to fix a TV or a computer. (I am not a wizard. I am not a Ninja. But I am pretty fucking certain having the ability to say "now leave it alone" and have your fucking parents fucking listen to you is a fucking super power. I am also suspicious of the claims my sister makes that her 'job' involves here being in Tamworth when these issues occur when I know she is getting shitfaced at Coogee the night before. But I digress)
I am currently going through a career change. I am studying Cyber Security at UTS through TAFE. I have spent 15 years of my life in retail and the only skill I have is the appropriate time to tell someone to fuck off, whilst implying that I care.
Bear with me.
Mum is good. Mum is great. She is the best motivator I know and also the first person you should ask if you want an "honest opinion". My task this weekend was to sort out a four litre bucket of receipts. I asked how and my answer was, "You know computers! You gave your father that game! Work it out!"
To my Mother's credit I found SIX bulldog clips and 23 paper clips and an unspeakable amount of irrelevant bullshit. Six fucking hours and I was amazed with the amount of crap Mum had in that fucking bucket.
I didn't do it properly, apparently.
You know what, THAT'S FUCKING FINE! EVERYTHING IS MY FUCKING FAULT! I NEED TO GO HOME AND SLEEP. i CAN'T DRIVE INTO SYDNEY CBD ANYMORE! EVERY JOURNEY ON THE EASTERN DISTRIBUTOR IS FUCKING FURY ROAD FUCKING ROAD FOR ME NOW! I'M OUT!
It's now Tuesday. I've calmed down. When I came home on Sunday my flatmates thought I was "agitated". I unloaded what had happened and Mark (a flatmate) said:
"Mate, your Mum built a fucking TARDIS. I mean, yeah, it's a shitty idea to build a TARDIS just for receipts, but she's your fucking Mum mate! You've gotta give her her just dues.
I love you Mum. But next time, call Linda. I guarantee that she is not in Tamworth.