The giant suckitude

Yeah, that giant sucking sound you hear is coming from me.

I suck so badly that I've created this black hole of suckiness all around me.

I keep ducking and be-bopping my huge melon around, trying to avoid all things sucky but the gravitational pull is too great and it all whiplashes around and smacks me in the face and embeds into my skin.

But there's no reason to feel sorry for me, as it's karma's reminding me that I reap what I sow.

Damn that karma.

But I'm a firm believer in that which does not kill you, makes you stronger.

So if I can survive this week, there's no reason I can't get it together enough to at least fake my way through the rest of my life.

(Damn, am I full of cliches today or what?

And, man oh man, it was a week of giant suckitude:

* I've been teaching art appreciation at the college for about 4 years now. I really enjoy teaching (even if the students seem to be getting either more lazy or more stupid — or both — each semester) and have developed a really comprehensive class.

Monday was my first class of the spring semester. It was, by far, the worst class I'd ever had.

My books weren't ordered — probably my fault.

My syllabi weren't photocopied correctly in that over half of them were missing the bottom 1/3 of the text — I didn't make the copies, but I should've looked at them.

Worst of all, was that there was a typo on my syllabus — my fault unequivocally.

I believe that the first class is when you establish credibility and set the tone for the class. I set a tone of disorganization and ineptness.

It's going to be a long semester.

* At my day job, I deal with the editorials, letters to the editor and columns written by our editorial staff. I found out this week that we've been leaving out a step in the process to make sure all these items are properly archived. We've lost much of a year's worth of letters, editorials and columns.

This wasn't my fault, but it sucks beyond words. All the time I spent meticulously coding and routing our materials was wasted and we have nothing to show for it.

Just thinking about this still makes my blood boil.

* And to put a cherry on top of the shit pile, this morning at 7:20 while I was stumbling through my morning, the doorbell rings and in walks my husband's ex-wife.

I wasn't even dressed and there she is, in all her trollish glory, standing in my living room.

It doesn't matter what she wanted, there is NO reason on God's green earth that she should be barging her gargoylesque ass into my my house at 7:20 in the morning unannounced, fer Pete's sake.

Yeah, sorry to have wasted y'alls time with my bitchy ramblings, but it's just one of those days.