Things contributing to my bad mood: I didn’t bring lunch, and didn’t have time to go get it before I got massively hungry…so I ate about half of a salami, because that’s what was left over in the fridge. I feel a tid bit like vomiting just now.
And Balk, I generally love you. But that was some bullshit.
There is a little battle happening inside my head right now.
Minty: Seattle Seattle Seattle I am so excited and I want to be there right NOW!
Minty, again: But my sister and my friends and my future niecephew and a paying job are all right HERE. Also, there’s Shake Shack. I never want to leave New York. I’m sad! So sad!
Minty: But being a student again will be so much fun! I work so much better on that kind of schedule. And who cares if I’m broke, everything is cheaper out there anyway. Happy!
Minty, again: Student loans. I AM VERY SAD.
Minty: No more going underground for an hour at a time on a beautiful day! Happy yay!
Minty, again: But I’ll have to wait for the bus in the rain. Lame. And I know I already said this, but it’s really the big deal: I’m leaving so many people. My sister is getting pregnant soon and I’m going to be across the damn country for it. Sad, sad, sad and I need to hug everyone at once immediately.
Minty: I give up. I’m going to go listen to Fleet Foxes and drink tea.
[You will note that in no point in this dialogue am I doing a productive thing like, say, studying for the LSATs that I have to take in 10 days. Or, you know, just actually doing work. Blargh.]
I made borscht last night too. I just don’t want to eat it now. If someone else had made it I’d be drooling because it’s perfectly yummy borscht. I guess it’s like the opposite of fart principle, I don’t like the smell of my own brand. Give me anyone else’s cooking but my own, please.
No shame in that. The decision to have an aborschtion is yours and yours alone.
Bristol Palin told me that teenage girls would never cook borscht if they knew they might have to eat it.
Today, I wanted revenge on the rabbit who ate my garden’s plants. When he returned, he was standing next to my brand new above-ground swimming pool. I pull out my 22. rifle and shot at it, but the bullet missed and popped a hole in my pool. 15,000 gallons of water flooded my basement. FML
Little fucker deserved it. Shooting at bunnies…what’s next, unicorn burgers?
Catching up is, at this point, a lost cause. I weep for the missed LOLz, but rejoice in my continued status as an employed person. Sometimes, trade-offs must be made.
My colleague is not happy with me.
My boss put me on an awesome project that she was supposed to be on, and gave her a bunch of crappy tasks on a different project. She’s not pleased, and I don’t really blame her. Granted, she’s junior to me, and so it’s sort of dues-paying…but it still sucks.
Also, we share an office. Awkward.
I told her that the invitation made my uterus hurt. Hopefully that’s the last of that.
I am so fucking TIRED and possibly getting sick. I want to crawl into a nest of blankets, curl up, and not come out for the next fifteen hours. I want warm milk and a backrub, not crappy k-cup coffee and a spreadsheet. WAAAAAAAAHHHHHH. You hear me? WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHH!!
Sorry. Scroll on by. It’s just that….waaaahhh.