The Bitter Blog

Yeah, it's time. I have decided to be disgruntled tonight. First of all, I'm in a cool hostel with some fun people, but ohhhh wait, I have to do work. Wah wah, I know. I'm in Ireland, enjoy it, right? Well you better be damn sure I'm enjoying it. It's the little things, though. Like just when I find a sweet place to stay or somewhere I want to hike, the ole chain yanks me back to the laptop. I love writing. That's why I've written so many entries for this blog. I probably write these faster than most people read them. The work for the book is boring as hell, though. Anyway, that's not the big issue. Here's the deal. I needed to send in my 3rd cobybatch tonight (I'm halfway done!). Well, this hostel is awesome enough to have wireless internet. I'm going along just fine, but in windows, Internet explorer just decided to not let me send any attachments through gmail. Wtf. So instead of getting on top of my work or having a pint at the pub next door or watching a movie with people downstairs, I play with the stupid technical difficulties. Screw you, Microsoft.

Then, my bathroom smells like piss. No matter, I forgot to bring my towel to the Aran Islands. I won't be showering today anyway. I'll have to stay in a B&B tomorrow where they give you towels...and breakfast.

There's a giant spider chillin in the top corner of my room right now. He hasn't moved in a while, but I know he's plotting my destruction as we speak. As soon as I fall asleep, he's going to come down from his safe hiding place and dance all over my face. Then lay eggs in my mouth. I know guys don't lay eggs, but I'm too lazy to go back and change the "he"s to "she"s, so just pretend. I thinking I'll just confront the thing and do battle with it face to face so it can't sneak attack me later. I'm not afraid of spiders...just the evils they plot against lonely travelers with imaginations.

Then there are all the damn editors in Cambridge. They've got perfect weather. I've got gloom and rain every day. They just chill out in their air-conditioned office and screw around all day. RWs are out here busting our asses. Editors make a shitload of money. We're lucky if we break even. They have crazy parties at night. They even have "staff meetings" to discuss said parties when they should all be working like I am out here. At night I write...sometimes I drink Guinness and then write. Stick it to the man. The bottom line--RWs need to unionize and demand higher wages and that the editors do some damn work. I am a fine Harvard-trained employee that needs gentle massaging. You can't replace me with minimum-wage laborers.

I tried to save money today. I bought a frozen pizza for dinner. It was delicious but small. I was immediately hungry afterward. I proceeded to eat a whole package of cookies. They were delicious as well, but my stomach hates me. Back in Cambridge, the editors are eating fine dinners of steak and lobster every night and sipping port and smoking cigars. I go to sleep hungry and poor and have to get up early to get to work again. The editors can go to the office whenever they feel like it, and they are most certainly not required to spend more than 40 hrs a week in there.

Also, I never had any time to relax after I graduated. I got my diploma, packed my bags, said by to the loves of my life, and hopped across the pond to start work.
I had to freakin pay to climb a hill and look at the rocks. That is not fair.
One more...I lost my receipt from the petro station. That means I don't get reimbursed the 34 euro I paid so that I can drive around here and do my job.
My bathroom still smells like piss. There are strange banging coming from in there, too.
Apu thinks he might leave me.

Damn straight I'm bitter. Actually, I think I do a horrible bitter spiel. I'll stick to talking about things like my nice bike ride around Inishmore Island and the weird/awesome bird that made crazy noises and stared at me until I realized that I was dangerously close to her very tiny hatchlings. The Aran Islands are a great place for bird watchers.

Here's a pretty picture. Where there are famous sites, there are lots of tourists. People have fallen off these cliffs. I edged up pretty close but didn't really risk it.
Oh wait, photos won't upload. Maybe later. Here we are.


Day: 18
Guinness: 28 (maybe I'm angry because I'm in withdrawal)