Ever since I graduated from school I've had 12 interviews, become a finalist twice, 0 call backs, and 0 fucking jobs. Man, I wish I won the lottery.

I don't know why this happens, but whenever my Dad gets pissed off my body gets so stressed out that all I think about is why my Dad is pissed off. A few hours ago I overcooked the fucking tapa (cured pork). Overcooking the tapa means that so much of the fat gets reduced and all that's left is pieces of tapa rather than slabs of tapa.

At this very moment, Papa is talking about me. I know because my room is above the kitchen and I could literally hear the tone (if not the words) in his voice. Right now, he's slamming the cabinet doors louder and louder. Man, I'm so goddamn stressed right now.

Jesus Christ.

All he thinks about is money.
All he thinks about is food.
And I'm so goddamned fucking stressed.
To the max.
FUCK. ME.