I don't want to talk to PM. She left a "how is the veteran feeling" survey yesterday for me to fill out and a note to call her yesterday. Fine, I'll fill out the survey. Later. My answers will go into a spreadsheet that will produce pretty graphs for her future PowerPoint presentation on how well the transitional housing program is working.
CM days I look upset. I am. I don't want to be here. You're asking me shit like where I'm from and have I lived in the state my whole life. I point out that I'm not happy because I could be making better use of my time than telling my life story.
CM wants to know what I've been doing. Studying. I'm taking two MIT OpenCourseware classes. What are the classes, she wants to know. What do you plan to do with computer science?
I'm going to be a software engineer. You don't have the faintest fucking idea what a software engineer does, CM. Don't try to pretend you care. You don't.
How's my depression? Fine. You don't care about that either. Yes I'm having some sleep problems. NO, you don't need to send me to see my psychiatrist. If I think I need to go, I'll make that call.
Porchlight wants to know about the financial aid I'll get for school- they think it will increase my income. No, it won't. University writes off my tuition bill. No stipend, no expenses, no checks.
Now I get to worry that if I get scholarships or grants, Porchlight is going to try to take part of it. Great.
No, I don't socialize around the house much. Meatiness are too damn loud, and I honestly don't want to hang out with felons and listen to them bitch about their parole officers and monitoring bracelets.
Got studying to do. Gotta go.