I AM allowed to be stressed, and cry from frustration. Just because I’m “only” seventeen, doesn’t mean I’m not stressed. I’m stressed as hell. Not only am I failing two classes, both essential to graduate, I also can’t get a job. I know. That sounds like something from a teen that doesn’t try. But I actually have. Multiple times.
I need to go get my food handlers permit to even TRY and get an interview, and I can’t even afford to get the food handlers permit, so I can get the job, to get me money to buy gas to get the job. -_-
Also, contrary to my dad’s belief. I get it. Gas is like liquid gold and is as expensive as hell. I am VERY aware of how much gas I use and how much it will cost to fill it up. I can’t help that my school is seven miles away and that my friends are even further. I don’t even GO to friends that much. If ever. Like….I really. Really don’t. I went to my friends houses twice this week. Twice. (That’s a lot for me, I generally don’t go at all) and now I have used a bit too much gas to get me till my dad’s next paycheck. And he let me know it. Well.
If I didn’t know shit before, well I know everything now. So thanks. Thanks for reminding me that having a very minimum social life will kill you’re lack of money that I’m WAY MORE AWARE OF THAN I SHOULD BE. I KNOW I need a job. Every time I ask you for money I NEED I feel terrible. I hate it. And the second I DO get a job, I will NEVER ask for money again. Unless it is absolute necessity.
I fucking hate how money LITERALLY controls my life. It’s a fucking. Piece. Of. PAPER.
Not to mention, food here is lacking. Greatly. I need gas. And like I said earlier, I need money, that we don’t have, to get money that I need. It’s sad to know that I, as a seventeen year old, actually NEEDS a job JUST to get to school. Most kids I know can ask their parents for twenty bucks whenever the hell they want to go to the movies. And here I am. Living off ramen, and getting into big arguements over the fact that I went to my friends house and because of that won’t have enough gas left to get me to school till next pay check.
The next time a teen in my school wants to bitch and moan about how they have it so hard, and their dad didn’t get them the fucking red sports car they wanted. Well go talk to someone who actually gives a shit. I would LOVE to have a car that wasn’t made in the nineties and has things breaking every other day.
So go eat your own shit for all I care.
Good night to you all.