(S)He hates being a disappointment--You know what I figure is worse than watching your (child) become crippled? Watching (her) be miserable

I have just under an hour to get this out of my system before my precious evening of television begins.
It won't be cleared up by then. I fully intend for this to fester and grow until such time as I feel like treating the cause of my frustration. I think I've earned the right to be at this point. If I haven't yet, please forgive me for jumping ahead in the narrative-the plot was getting repetitive and I have begun to despise the main character.
This morning I got up, full of hope and excitement at the possibility of a full month of steady work ahead of me. Over a thousand dollars in my pocket.
Tonight I am wondering how much of the cheap whisky I'll be able to pour down my throat before I am forced to make a mad and futile dash toward the proper receptacle. God forbid any sodding thing go right.
Now, at this point I could go about explaining what happened. But I don't fucking well want to and so I will not. Needless to say, I did what I was told, followed instructions as they were given me--no, as I understood them, I should clarify, I did only what I understood to be acceptable that is all I did. What I believed to be acceptable was not and thus I find myself unemployed, and judging by the scolding tone of the agent to whom I spoke at the office, fairly well knocked square to the bottom on the list of people who will soon find themselves employed in a position steady or otherwise.
In fact, I would go so far as to say that the conversation was reminiscent of one of those dreaded brush off 'don't call us we'll call you' or perhaps more appropriately 'you have 15 minutes to gather your things, please don't make me call security, let's save ourselves the embarassment, shall we?"
"You should never even let an employer see that you HAVE a book, that's just unprofessional."
Cunt.
Yes, I said it.
I'll even so much as say it again with adjectives
Fucking stupid cunt.
I have a book with me always. I read. I fucking read that is what I do, it is my joy and it is my solace and who the motherfuck are you to tell me that I shouldn't have a book with me. I always have a goddam book and that you would insinuate that it makes me less worthwhile employee indicates to me that you wish to employ people that I am not and perhaps we are not such a good fit you automaton bitch. Why don't you go get raped by a gang of syphylitic sailors. It's never appropriate to do anything but exactly what you are instructed, and the instructions are screamingly clear: Take it like the bitch you are. It might be easier if you grab ahold of something, and pick a nice spot on the wall upon which to concentrate. To take your mind off things.
I am very tired of being some Wicked Twist of Fate's Bitch.
So ridiculously fed up with it.
Every damn week it's a new thing. And I'm strong, I can bloody well buck up like a good little soldier and take it---I've taken enough.
Screw it.
Screw joining in and being a cog and playing nice and dressing in khakis and curling my hair.
Screw smiling and creating small talk with strangers.
Screw 'Yes, I'll drive across town on 15 minutes notice for a one day gig.'
Just in general screw everything.
I have tried and I have bucked the hell up and I've---
Well, I've been on the phone for much of the last hour with my parents.
As usual, Mum hung up on me when she decided there was 'nothing else to say.' This means she didn't want to give me an emotional outlet. I'm not allowed several emotions with my mother. I don't fault her this, really, I damaged her very severely long ago by feeling. It's best for all involved if I don't. At least not with any particular strength. If it is not your family, I suspect this sounds wrong. She angers me, hurts me sometimes--but it's only because I earned being hurt. I did.
Dad-well, what to say about Dad-he takes the calls Mum won't and demands I 'buck up and take it like angry and not with tears' failing that-I should 'cry it out and move on.' He can say to me what Mum can't--he was harmed by me, I hurt everyone in that wounds that don't heal kind of way--but he sees that it is not that harmful creature of then that he is facing now. I don't know why he sees that-I suspect it is because of how he grow up. He will accept the instability of his children, lest he become a parent the likes of which he experienced while growing up.
Mind you-I'm guessing, I could be very wrong.
I don't really know what his childhood was like
We all face life in our own way.
If we didn't it blogs and autobiography would be some of the most boring reading this side of instruction manuals.