Just so you know.
I hope you understand that I’m only doing this for you because you are my father, and I am obliged to fufill my duty as a daughter. I do not appreciate you assuming that I have time to do your work for you. You come in to my room telling, not asking, me to draft a letter/plan a new tour itinerary/write a report for you because you have no guts to tell your superiors that you can’t do it yourself. And yes, you always need it by tomorrow morning as you’ll have a meeting with them then.
Based on your seniority in your company, I do not understand why you are always having to this shit work. Are those young and pretty newcomers in your department only there to make the scenery in your drab office more palatable for an otherwise disgusting work environment? Are their degrees a mere certification of what they could offer and not what they should be offering? I understand your incapability in drafting a decent letter, and because I’ve spent all of your wife’s money on my education, I feel it is only right that I do this for you. So please do forgive me if I left your letter to be done only after I have finished my neverending work.
I am extremely disappointed – no, I am fucking pissed, that you had to send your wife to my room in the middle of the night to inform me that you need it on your desk tomorrow morning. Especially when I am not in your company, and have not been party to your discussions with the people involved. With whatever little of the information you’ve given me, I’m supposed to weave magic and suddenly produce a beautifully crafted letter, one that you will be given credit for if it has been given the nod by your superiors. Only If. Most of the time, speaking from my endless experience, my letter would be rejected anyway. But, knowing what a proud person I am, I refuse to write a skimpy letter just to get it out of my way.
So now, I’m writing this post because I’m taking a break from racking my brains in an attempt to draft a decent letter for you so that you can answer to your superiors tomorrow morning. I am here, fighting sleep, fighting another war with words, and fighting with my tumultuous emotions, while you’re sleeping comfortably in the other room.
I am trying very hard to convince myself that I’m doing this for me, not for you.