Dunno what to say, Soli. I'm sorry. What a waffleiron. I think you behaved admirably.
I'm in a sort of desperate mood and really starting to hope that it's hormones. Not, like, mating-desperate, just frustrated with my incredibly boring desk job and the fact that huge parts of the job are writing code in a statistics software package but only one person in the entire company is a technical guy who actually knows a jot about programming. I.e. only one person in the entire company actually puts comments in his code and uses readable formatting, and pretty much everyone I've spoken to has some major thing about the language that they don't understand. I found multiple glaring errors in the code I was supposed to be "learning from."
For example, the lady who's doing most of the work getting me situated has been working there for three years and doesn't know what "else if" does; doesn't care to learn. And you know, I realize that this really isn't about writing good code, but rather about statistical rigor--but the stuff is almost impossible to read or edit. It's not organized in any way whatsoever. Also, I'm working unpaid overtime every day already because I can't stand being the "unlearned trainee" of the group that no one can count on. Got to get stuff out of the way. First to arrive, last to leave is the way to go. But I know that when I figure it out, I'm going to be really, really overqualified for this job.
Their training program is completely incompetent and I keep having to ask for information they should have given me day one. Or multiple days before day one, rather. Like the packet of forms I was supposed to fill out, some of which required special forms of ID that I didn't bring with me when I moved. So I spent about half an hour on Monday talking my mother through how to attach files to emails. It took three tries.
I spent the last two hours of the day reading a textbook, which was nice, and I bought some pumpkin tea and pumpkin butter at the grocery store (thank goodness for credit cards). But I'm pretty much out of cash, and though I reloaded my bus pass this morning I still had to rely on the largesse of a total stranger for the last 60 cents of fare for the journey home because the transaction didn't go through in time. Don't even actually have complete control of my finances yet. I won't explain why, it's embarrassing--but it's certainly not all my fault. Whom the blame rests with doesn't matter much, it's just frustrating. I wouldn't have had the money-on-the-bus problem if I'd just lumped it and eaten apples for lunch instead of getting a $2.75 piece of pizza with my coworkers. I have lots of money, I just can't get to it at the moment. . .
I think some guy also said something nasty under his breath when I passed him on the way to the grocery store.
I can't cook, either, because the guy who lived here last didn't clear out his fucking stuff and there's no space for me to put dry goods or anything that you'd make into a real meal; the mini-fridge I get to use is gross because he didn't clean it and I didn't have time to yet. No pantry space, either, since the guy who was supposed to help me figure this stuff out is going to an emergency funeral (and the other people, who could have been helpful, are completely lacking in responsibility). So I'm basically spilling money right and left, and on Monday I stole a teaspoon of my roommate's homemade jam for a sandwich without asking. I probably should have just taken a plain peanut butter sandwich to work, but I didn't. I don't even know whose jam it was, just that I wasn't willing to use mustard.
Oh, and my roommates leave dirty dishes everywhere and aren't exactly polite about keeping counter space clear of used pots and pans. There's a dish-pile! They can put the dishes in the dish-pile, less than five feet away!
I don't know. I'm angry because I feel like crying. There's so much I have to do and so much I'm desperate to get done, and I'm too tired for any of it. I wish someone would pay attention to me and bother to care, and I feel like I have an obligation to get angry at myself for that whiny impulse pre-emptively, so that other people will know to leave me alone instead of attacking me for being weak.
I'm so tired.