Category 5 Shit-storm
Hooray stuff! Well, I just got back from washing, waxing, and detailing a car that...well, isn't mine. I decided to be really awesome and detail Sarah's car for her, and it turned out to be such an incredible pain in the ass that I almost gave up. It wasn't that I had no idea what I was doing, it's just that the detailing products I have are utter crap. And I'm flat broke (like usual). So I ended up taking like four hours and finally getting it to look nice. I guess. Not that it matters. It'll be dirty again tomorrow. Just like the room, and everything else.
I got an amazing new job that's absolutely excellent, except for two things: I can't get there and I'd rather cut my toes off one by one than ever go back there again. So I'm back at Ace. It's nice. I like Ace. I like hardware. It's fun knowing how things go together and how they work. I just wish the pay were better, but I guess that's what everyone wishes for. Better pay. And ponies.
Sarah's out with Melissa, getting free tans from somewhere and somebody. You know what they say, when the cat's away, the mice will play! And, by play, I mean sit in the dark and write dumpy fucking live journal entries then go try and find something to do. It's sad. I have a real journal. A really NICE one, too. But I'm always terrified to write in it because I know it will be sad and ugly and I'm afraid to spell things incorrectly. I don't fucking know.
I know I slept last night, but I feel like I've been awake for years. My body is an ancient stone monolith; creaking and groaning in the wind. My eyes are made of sandpaper, and my mouth is a tomb sealed closed by the decades. My mind is a field with a single crooked tree, and I don't know what all of that means.
I got an amazing new job that's absolutely excellent, except for two things: I can't get there and I'd rather cut my toes off one by one than ever go back there again. So I'm back at Ace. It's nice. I like Ace. I like hardware. It's fun knowing how things go together and how they work. I just wish the pay were better, but I guess that's what everyone wishes for. Better pay. And ponies.
Sarah's out with Melissa, getting free tans from somewhere and somebody. You know what they say, when the cat's away, the mice will play! And, by play, I mean sit in the dark and write dumpy fucking live journal entries then go try and find something to do. It's sad. I have a real journal. A really NICE one, too. But I'm always terrified to write in it because I know it will be sad and ugly and I'm afraid to spell things incorrectly. I don't fucking know.
I know I slept last night, but I feel like I've been awake for years. My body is an ancient stone monolith; creaking and groaning in the wind. My eyes are made of sandpaper, and my mouth is a tomb sealed closed by the decades. My mind is a field with a single crooked tree, and I don't know what all of that means.