Strange as it may seem, this life is based on a true story." - Ashleigh Brilliant


name: shanna
age: 28
sign: scorpio
live: louisiana
The current mood of shanna at

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Friday, August 08, 2003

It's like, no matter how hard I try to put myself in a good mood, life keeps knocking me upside the head and right back down.

Not that my troubles are huge, or even, compared to some, significant. It's just that they add up and I'm stressed out and I want to just kill someone. I spent yesterday evening crashing cars and murdering people in creative ways for a few hours on Vice City just to blow off some steam. It does wonders.

So I woke up today in a little bit better mood. Fuck Bellsouth - somehow I'll come up with the extra money to get the phone cut back on. It's kind of nice not having it ringing and I know next time to force them to give me something in writing when we work out a payment plan. But then I got an email from the cool lady I'd ordered my Madonna DVD from. I had emailed her just the night before; it had been over two weeks and I'd hadn't gotten it yet. She said the tracking number showed my post office had received it, left me a notice and was waiting to hear back from me!!!

I most certainly did not receive any notice. This got me all pissed off - all over again - at our retarded fucking post office. I've had problems with them ever since moving to Baton Rouge. Get this shit. When I first lived here with my ex, they wouldn't take our mail. Even shoving it half out the mailbox failed to have it taken by the postperson. After a few bills were late because of this stupidity, I called them. Imagine my shock when they said, "Oh, they don't have to take it if they don't want to. Just go stick it in one of those blue mailboxes." Yes, they did.

So, folks, if your mailman takes your mail consider it a privilege. Apparently they don't have to. When I moved back to Baton Rouge, in the same area, a few years later - same thing. So, now, when I want to mail something I have to go to the nearest "blue mailbox" to do so. So I've had this package sitting there since July 28 and they have not let me know a damn thing!

Then I get to work and mother-fucking state trooper is parked in the handicap space I always park in - closest to the door; all crooked in the space. Let me tell you something - that is as fucking shitty as it gets. Had another one of my co-workers been parked in that space - had anyone parked in that space that didn't have a handicap tag - they would've been given a ticket. I've seen cops turn on their lights just to run a red light, then turn them back off again. That's abuse of power and that pisses me off - but to park in a space that handicapped people need because they're too damn lazy to walk their fat asses a few more feet is just unacceptable. I almost wrote his license plate number down and reported him to his higher ups. But what's the point? The last thing I need is a pissed off state trooper hunting me down. And I don't hold it past someone that's rude and self-centered enough to park in a handicap spot like a fucking jerk.

Life will just not let me shake this damn bad mood! I had one cigarette last nite. One. And no money - not even change left anymore - to go and get some more. I would light it, take two hits, then snuff it out. By time I stopped crying and logged on to Vice City, I was ready to shed blood. Oddly, I find it comforting to blow the little 'toon people away with my sawed-off shotgun or run them over in my expensive little car. -sigh- Ah, Playstation...take me away.

- shanna bared her soul & griped a bit @ 6:15 AM

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