Sleeplessness Bites Major Cookies

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Really, I could say "insomnia" but that sounds too much like I have a problem. It is simply one of those one night things. You know, when I realize that I have a whole seven hours of sleep ahead of me. Which means I cannot sleep at all. Instead, I stay up watching COUNTRY MUSIC TELEVISION and eating carmel corn in hopes of rotting my teeth out.

When I attempted sleep my back and feet hurt so badly that I couldn't really drift off. New plan: eat enough sugar to make my teeth scream in pain, thus alleviating the pain from my back and feet. Logical, yes?

If you had to spend your days being objectified, lusted after and fighting constanly to be treated remotely fairly, you too, might be a bit on the unlogical side. There are definate times when I feel what I imagine would be the soul errosion of a stripper, except without the wads of cash.

Come to think of it, I have the customers who openly ogle me and eye-rape me, yet REFUSE to pay any sort of price that will make me money. I AM GETTING SCREWED TWO WAYS OVER!

This is not the vodka talking. Vodka was not a wise option since I have to be at work tomorrow morning BRIGHT AND FRICKIN' EARLY. Instead, I just opted for the wrist slitting. And blog therapy. And my secret country music cure.

Confession: I called Starbucks Boy up in tears tonight after work. Mainly because he is three hours behind us, thus rendering him the only person who was awake once I got off. And, sweet Starbucks Boy, let me assure you CAR DEALERSHIPS ARE JUST AS BAD IN CALIFORNIA. LIFE IS JUST AS BAD EVERYWHERE. Bringing me back to my main point: slitting my wrists. I did, however, make it clear I would slit my wrists properly as to ensure the tendons would stay intact and I would be able to hold my vodka until the last bit of blood escaped from my tender arms.

Speaking of draining the life out of me, I restart school Monday. Which is sort of exciting other than the small fact I have no idea what the hell I am doing. And the university has a nasty habit of NOT RETURNING PHONE CALLS. And since we know it is impossible to get any sort of decent job without a college degree, it brings me back to my main point yet again: slitting of the wrists.

Does anyone else see how logical this is?!

Unfortunately, I don't think I have a sharp enough object.

P.S. In all my thinking and reading of your comments, I am seriously considering going red.


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This odd narrative is my life. I ended up in Pittsburgh, of all places--from the beach. I have no hobbies, other than cooking excessively and eating microwave popcorn. I enjoy shopping, the Food network, hiding the remote so the Food network cannot be turned off, find ethnic food stores and restaurants and reading voraciously. My life is decidedly pedestrian.

I worked in the car business where I was required to be ruthless and soul-less wench, which is when I started this project. Since then, I've kept it up because secretly, I've always wanted to join the military. Every male in my mother's family has joined and I quietly entertain thoughts of joining. I haven't yet and don't know if I ever will, but sending the troops cookies keeps me sane. it makes me think I still have a shred of human kindness left in my withering soul. it's a small way for me to salute the men and women who are brave enough to fight for freedom. And makes me feel like I'm contributing toward troop morale--even if I'm not. So if you want to help, send me addresses of troops you know stationed overseas. you may also contribute toward the cost of chocolate chips, but don't feel obligated, that link is here only by request.

the past


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