|60s night a few weeks ago.|
8:00 a.m.: I awake from a disturbing dream, the details of which are still pretty fuzzy.
8:30: My phone alarm ("We Used to Be Friends" by the Dandy Warhols) goes off, reminding me that I had planned to go to Ogden with some Scott, Nate, and Cassie in an hour. With a sinking feeling, I realize this is my last morning of freedom until Monday because I work a morning shift Thursday, Friday, and Saturday, and church starts at 10 a.m. Sunday (Ironically it's the same time of my other morning shifts, though church is voluntary and much more enjoyable--when I can stay awake/ on task during Sacrament Meeting. Ask Elise for details of my most recent weeks.) I am not in the right state of mind to go to Ogden, and I really want to get some stuff done before my next three mornings are taken up with sitting at a desk, half awake, occasionally ringing up someone for education or scrapbook supplies or, miraculously, a book. Most people don't really shop in the mornings for that kind of stuff, except for the occasional frazzled middle age woman who stands at the doors waiting for us to open up at ten. I don't know why they stand there, because we are not going to open them any earlier, unless it's raining, or something.
But I digress.
So, I text Scott and tell him I'm not going to make it. Unbeknownst to me, this day turns into an anti-social day.
By the time I get up, I am moving pretty slowly. I start reading one of the library books that is due tomorrow, I bust out my brand spanking new portable hard drive and start backing up my computer (I have the bad habit of crashing computers so I finally bit the monetary bullet and got something with enough drive space to back up all my precious files.) I get to talk to Amber, who I hardly ever see since we are both raging workaholics and when I'm not working I'm usually at the Round House dressed up like another decade. Heck, I even see our one remaining roommate, Mady. Our other roommate, Randi, moved out unexpectedly on Monday. I have my suspicions, but let's just say she is a different egg and she's probably much happier living nearer to her fiance.
|Me and Jacie during last week's 30s/40s night. We both unwittingly dressed up as Rosie the Riveter. I do crazy stuff like this every week. For reals. My neighbors must think I'm completely cucku. That's okay, I don't like them much either.|
Then... after it all, I finally get ready and go to work at one. I mean to go in early, but as with all things early (1 p.m. is early for me these days), I fail. At least I was right on time--now that's a cause for celebration. I kinda wish I'd get more credit for showing up on time instead of getting congratulations for being 5 minutes late instead of 10. It just goes to show if you are late a few times in a row they come to expect it as normal. Sad day.
Work was BUSY. Holy cow. I also think I have bad computers karma (Remember the note above about why I bought a portable hard drive finally?), because today, while I was using them at separate times, the computer cash register upstairs ceased to work and the fax machine downstairs ceased to print. Dangit.
Tonight was Wednesday, so I sat back in General Books and did some ordering for my boss, Lacey. She's a cutie, but tonight she gave me twice as much as usual and in between doing that, straightening books, hunting down books for customers who called not remembering the exact name, sending faxes on the other, newer fax machine and ringing up customers who couldn't pay upstairs because someone (cough cough) broke the register, I was very busy.
It only pays minimum wage, but I still love my job.
Then I finally get to go home once we close at 8 p.m. and I have a sudden urge for chocolate. Remembering that I finished off the chocolate chips the night before, I head to WalMart and get a bag of Ghiradelli Milk Chocolate chips and some eggs and go home and make brownies. Then I get to spend the rest of the luxurious evening in my old, much loved Angels jersey and sweats, listening to the music I've never heard on my iTunes yet, eating first Chunky soup, then the brownies, and reading Meg Cabot's "Size 12 Is Not Fat." I missed Meg Cabot. Her writing style is great.
|Me with the cute 2-week old Alaskan Husky puppy I got to hold at Elise's uncle's house on our mini roadtrip through Idaho.|
Are you still reading this, my dear reader? My, you are patient.
My sister's Facebook status came on my phone around 9:45: "Okay, so the kid on CSI--is that Justin Bieber? Right now channel two!" I couldn't resist, especially if it really is Bieber (Will his voice ever change? He has to hit puberty sometime, right?). I turn on KUTV and sure enough, the Bieb is riding shotgun in some dude's truck, on the lamb from the Las Vegas popo. It ends dramatically, with his accomplice surrendering in a stand-off and Bieber shooting him and then getting shot in the chest and dying. My sister sent me a text soon after: "They just killed Justin Bieber!"
I was wondering if at the time they filmed the episode the cop who shot Bieber's character was thinking the exact same thing--"I just killed Justin Bieber!"
And now I'm here.
Did I ever mention I love listening to Ben Folds when I'm melancholy? Well, I do.
I can't wait for next semester. I like having my own bedroom at Oak Ridge, and not paying utilities, and the fast internet, and the bathroom, and especially the walk-in closet, but the people here are not my kind of people.
Well I guess that's about it for now. If you managed to hang on through to the end of the entire post, I tip my hat off to you.