The Pennsylvania Deparent of Labor and Industry can literally suck A FUCKING. CACTUS.
Denying my claim 9 GODDAMN MONTHS AFTER I INITIALLY FILED FOR UC after being harassed for months by a supervisor who didn't even get a slap on the wrist after I walked out on their shift, following a mental breakdown and being told I wasn't even wanted. My boss never did anything, My DM never did anything and LIED ABOUT IT, and my HR never did anything.
I killed myself over that stupid job. I came in early, stayed late, came in on my days off, improved the store through more efficient methods that went into daily practice, I was always positive and made sure to take care of my coworkers. And FOR WHAT? NOTHING. I GET NOTHING. Just a letter of separation, and then a denied claim for the months I was out of work.
I want to accpet my gf's help but all I can say is "I'm sorry for being a burden" when I know it's not my fault and I didn't deserved to be abused, I don't want to be a frustration to her but I can't just accept help. Sorry
nee maar het is eigk wel gewoon fucking raar vind ik dat ik al 4 jaar ofzo niet meer met ez of pasc heb gepraat like wat de fuck..... dat had ik me destijds echt niet voor kunnen stellen maar dat is allemaal zo snel over gegaan? echt van de een op de andere dag? had ik nooit verwacht maar het kwam ook echt out of nowhere eigenlijk
This week’s soap adventures. An aloe and mango butter bar colored with beetroot, indigo, spirulina, charcoal and turmeric and scented with ylang ylang, lemongrass, basil and cedarwood. A pumpkin honey oatmeal bar. And my first foray into melt and pour soap to make crystals for imbedding in cold process soap.
anyhow noodles is officially a fear food now. I panicked when my parents served me noodle soup last weekend bc I can’t skip dinner. Can’t skip dinner there but I usually only eat the vegetables and drink the broth🙃
they don’t really comment on it so its fine. But if you love me, never force me to eat noodles good night
“How much is too much to share with a stranger? Each mouthful that I would begin to stutter was a recognition that there was no way back. Each sweaty syllable was an acceptance of my death. Living really was a manual on learning how to die, and I was about to forego my facade to an outsider. Once what was said was said— I would not be able to crawl out of its blue and black depths. All the blueish hues of pain, the bruises of life that sink us into a deeper melancholy, I would not be able to escape. Like a blow that builds the bruise, the words I was about to utter would enter us both into a steep plunge of intimacy. Yet, I was still afraid. Afraid of that commitment, afraid of the responsibility that came with closeness, or more: the expectation that resided, on both parts, in its aftermath. What if it was rejection? Dismissal? I didn’t want to be pitied, I wanted to be seen. Seen for all that I was, trepidatious out of necessity.”