Just breathe
I suppose I should announce, in case anyone's interested, that I am back in Warrenton. For the next few weeks, until the place I am (hoping) to move into is available, I am living with the lovely Gelly and her gracious parents. There were many factors that lead me to where I find myself now, that being on Gelly's guest bed. A number of those factors added up to resentment toward my aunt and uncle. But seeing as how I've got a pretty good set-up here (this room's bigger, not to mention WAY less pink [gag] then my room in Centreville), and that I'm quite relaxed (the fan I bought today is blowing a lovely breeze on me, my laptop and I are getting along swimmingly, and this house is so quiet! HOORAY), I've decided not to go into great detail about my aforementioned negative feelings toward my aunt and uncle. Out with the bad, in the with the good. ZEN.
Me being able to say that after today is basically a shock, though. Because speaking of inconsiderate people, my cafe supervisor can go fuck himself. Again, I don't want to go into details about it because I'll just get upset again, (bad: out, good: in), but lately I've been having to weigh the pros of my job with the cons more often than I like. What's worse is the cons seem to get the best of me most days.
But some people have an innate sense of exactly what to say when it needs to be heard.
Some background first: my good friend Joey is in South Carolina for the weekend for a massive bachelor party. Last night, he drunk dialed me, which was fucking hysterical to say the least. Of all the times (*shame*) I've drunk dialed him, he never has me. Not to say he hasn't called me drunk, but there's a fine difference between "drunk dialing" and just calling someone when you've had a few. Anyone who's had their share of alcohol knows what I'm talking about. "Drunk dialing" is the much funnier, less coherent, and more embarrassing of the two. So last night was my first drunk dial from Joey. Also my second and third. The first conversation was hilarious, and the following were just very nice to have, although the last one was kind of worrisome as his formally jovial mood seemed to be replaced with the emo-phase of drinking. I mean, he said he called to say hi, that he wanted to talk to me, but he was uncharacteristically quiet and when I asked what was wrong, he said he didn't know. It was odd, and I was concerned. Besides that, it was a lovely night.
But that's not the point, and I wouldn't want to embarrass him by going into more detail because I certainly know that a drunk dial is not something to be publicized (oh, the agonizing embarrassment!) It's somewhat pertinent for the rest of my story, is all; remember, the point being some people know exactly what to say. After work, I called Sally and felt guilty about missing rehearsal, then called Joanna and felt guilty about not being in the right mood to see a movie with her and her friends. Both of those along with my horrible day at work, I felt rotten. I texted Joey asking him when he gets home. He's one of only a few friends I have that can easily cheer me up and make me "fuhgedaboudit" (which is exactly how he says it), so I wanted to talk to him, but I didn't want to dump my emotional garbage on him while he's enjoying himself on his weekend off. After getting home (read: Gelly's), I got a response from him: "Sorry to worry you. Tomorrow." I told him it was no big deal, he had just seemed out of sorts. He called me, apologizing, and assuring me he was alright. We talked for a bit, mostly about his day at Bachelor Party Palooza. Towards the end of the conversation, he asked if something was wrong with me, because I apparently sounded kind of upset. He's very good at picking up on that; I wasn't being at all obvious, and almost everyone else I know wouldn't have noticed anything was off with me, seriously. Like I said, I didn't want to rain on his Palooza parade, so I just told him, "I had a pretty bad day, but don't even worry about it, I'll talk to you later about it." He asked if I was sure, to which I replied yes. Then he said exactly the right thing to make me feel better:
"Well, I'm sorry for you, Lizzie, and whatever it is I hate it for you. My heart goes out to you, and I'm thinking about you all the time."
It was classic Joey - sincere and incredibly sweet (two adjectives I'm sure he would NEVER attribute to himself, but it's true). I'd felt like the bottom of the barrel, and it was great to hear that I'm important to someone in the universe. I could practically feel all the terrible residue of the day flake off of me.
Joey is one of those people whose sense of exactly what to say makes him someone I feel incredibly lucky to know. And having someone I can rely on to pick me up when I'm down is something everyone needs.
As Hallmarky as it is, my friends mean everything to me.
Anyway, it's probably a good thing I've been so sleep deprived the past two nights, because although it's only 9:30 I have to be getting myself to bed. It's crazy, probably the earliest I've gone to bed in years, but I have to be up by 4 a.m. tomorrow. YES. 4 a.fuckingm. My supervisor (*seethes with residual anger that can't be help*), my manager, and I have to do inventory before opening. Jayzus. At least I'll be out by 8 a.m. and have the rest of the day to either recover, or take full advantage of with the help of caffeine. So goodnight.
Me being able to say that after today is basically a shock, though. Because speaking of inconsiderate people, my cafe supervisor can go fuck himself. Again, I don't want to go into details about it because I'll just get upset again, (bad: out, good: in), but lately I've been having to weigh the pros of my job with the cons more often than I like. What's worse is the cons seem to get the best of me most days.
But some people have an innate sense of exactly what to say when it needs to be heard.
Some background first: my good friend Joey is in South Carolina for the weekend for a massive bachelor party. Last night, he drunk dialed me, which was fucking hysterical to say the least. Of all the times (*shame*) I've drunk dialed him, he never has me. Not to say he hasn't called me drunk, but there's a fine difference between "drunk dialing" and just calling someone when you've had a few. Anyone who's had their share of alcohol knows what I'm talking about. "Drunk dialing" is the much funnier, less coherent, and more embarrassing of the two. So last night was my first drunk dial from Joey. Also my second and third. The first conversation was hilarious, and the following were just very nice to have, although the last one was kind of worrisome as his formally jovial mood seemed to be replaced with the emo-phase of drinking. I mean, he said he called to say hi, that he wanted to talk to me, but he was uncharacteristically quiet and when I asked what was wrong, he said he didn't know. It was odd, and I was concerned. Besides that, it was a lovely night.
But that's not the point, and I wouldn't want to embarrass him by going into more detail because I certainly know that a drunk dial is not something to be publicized (oh, the agonizing embarrassment!) It's somewhat pertinent for the rest of my story, is all; remember, the point being some people know exactly what to say. After work, I called Sally and felt guilty about missing rehearsal, then called Joanna and felt guilty about not being in the right mood to see a movie with her and her friends. Both of those along with my horrible day at work, I felt rotten. I texted Joey asking him when he gets home. He's one of only a few friends I have that can easily cheer me up and make me "fuhgedaboudit" (which is exactly how he says it), so I wanted to talk to him, but I didn't want to dump my emotional garbage on him while he's enjoying himself on his weekend off. After getting home (read: Gelly's), I got a response from him: "Sorry to worry you. Tomorrow." I told him it was no big deal, he had just seemed out of sorts. He called me, apologizing, and assuring me he was alright. We talked for a bit, mostly about his day at Bachelor Party Palooza. Towards the end of the conversation, he asked if something was wrong with me, because I apparently sounded kind of upset. He's very good at picking up on that; I wasn't being at all obvious, and almost everyone else I know wouldn't have noticed anything was off with me, seriously. Like I said, I didn't want to rain on his Palooza parade, so I just told him, "I had a pretty bad day, but don't even worry about it, I'll talk to you later about it." He asked if I was sure, to which I replied yes. Then he said exactly the right thing to make me feel better:
"Well, I'm sorry for you, Lizzie, and whatever it is I hate it for you. My heart goes out to you, and I'm thinking about you all the time."
It was classic Joey - sincere and incredibly sweet (two adjectives I'm sure he would NEVER attribute to himself, but it's true). I'd felt like the bottom of the barrel, and it was great to hear that I'm important to someone in the universe. I could practically feel all the terrible residue of the day flake off of me.
Joey is one of those people whose sense of exactly what to say makes him someone I feel incredibly lucky to know. And having someone I can rely on to pick me up when I'm down is something everyone needs.
As Hallmarky as it is, my friends mean everything to me.
Anyway, it's probably a good thing I've been so sleep deprived the past two nights, because although it's only 9:30 I have to be getting myself to bed. It's crazy, probably the earliest I've gone to bed in years, but I have to be up by 4 a.m. tomorrow. YES. 4 a.fuckingm. My supervisor (*seethes with residual anger that can't be help*), my manager, and I have to do inventory before opening. Jayzus. At least I'll be out by 8 a.m. and have the rest of the day to either recover, or take full advantage of with the help of caffeine. So goodnight.