A Hole Needs to be Filled in the Desert

Fuck anyone who says living in an apartment is advantageous because YOU don't have to fix anything. I want to hurt the maintenance personnel at this complex. They're the equivalents of homicidal cops, child-molesting teachers and pyromaniac firefighters. They're the antithesis of who they are supposed to be and therefore spit in the face of all that is sane and just.

My back is stiff and my shoulder feels like I got a mutant second head hanging dead from it. I stayed home. My job upsets me anyway, no tears.

I'm in the shower, hot as my soreness can stand. Which is REALLY FREAKIN' hot. Suddenly, no shit, I hear what I think is a gunshot right there in my bathroom. Was I hit? It felt like if I was, it was in the foot. I look at my foot. There's fucking blood pouring everywhere!

The "good news"? My foot is surrounded by ceramic. The soap dish fell off the wall. A-fucking-GAIN!!! I HATE those idiots.

I dried off. My heel's not so bad. It just poured blood apparently because my shower water was so hot. Think that was hot? You ought not to see my temper right now. I hope my keyboard survives. I just should have fixed it myself like I said I was going to. Damn it.