Not For Any Money

I was up at six--an hour and eight minutes ago. Okay, big whoop. But for me it's early.

I am worried, scared, and fearful about going into work today.

Boss Lady yelled--and I mean yelled at me yesterday. Combined with all the other little digs, I see a pattern.

I could fucking take this shit for 50 bucks an hour. I sure's the hell ain't gonna take this for no nine fucking dollars an hour.

I am done. I am done with crying after people yell at me. Done with feeling like shit. Done worrying that I'm going to get in trouble. Done walking on eggs shells.

I will not take any more abuse.

Not for 50 bucks an hour and not for nine dollars an hour.

I may have had a break down and been in the nuthouse twice, but I still have dignity, seven years of college, 14 years of teaching experience. And a stellar employment record until said break down. So you wanna go, Boss Lady? Let's go.

'Cause I'm fucking done taking shit that I don't deserve.

I give myself enough of that. The only one who can yell at me is me. And maybe I yell at myself because I've let others 'yell' at me for so long.

So, I'm done. You wanna go up against a Jersey Girl? Be by guest, bitch. I'll show you what you can do with your mugs.

God Forgive Me. Not Christian at All. But, then I ain't God or the Pope.

Smoke ‘em if ya’ got ‘em. God Bless

In the name of The Father, Son, and Holy Spirit; Mother Mary, Saint Brigid; Saint Jude; Saint Therese Lisieux; Archangel Michael, and my Guardian Angel.

PS: I may be an idiot, but I'm not a fucking idiot.