I Feel Cranky
I hate my job. I know, so does 99% of the population. Welcome to the club, huh?
It's not the work itself I hate. It's physically demanding (banana boxes weigh 40 pounds, potato sacks weigh 50, carrots around 50 and so one), but...it will sound weird, but I get a certain sense of accomplishment. Like, when I go home at the end of the day I can look around and really see what I've done. I can see that the floors are swept, and that the peaches have been filled, and that I hung up the signs.
But I hate the rude customers. I hate the hours I have to work. If I'm the most senior clerk, why am I always working till ten? That's for less senior people. And I hate the fact that we have cliques at work. No one told me that adults had cliques. I thought that ended in high school. WHY WAS I NOT INFORMED OF THIS?! I mean, I get along with my co-workers, but then suddenly, five of them are going to lunch. I'm never invited. I feel left out. It's like I'm in high school, sitting alone in the cafeteria.
Blehhhhhhh. I wish I could work from home. No cliques there.
I bet the cats would start a clique. I wouldn't hold it past them.
Speaking of the cats, Missy had her kittens. She kept trying to have them on the bed. I was having none of that, and kept putting her in the box I had set up for her. This continued all night. In the morning, I went to take a shower, and when I came back, she was giving birth on the bed. I scooped her up just in time. I swear she did it on purpose. All goes well that day and the next, but early Friday morning she decided that the kittens should be moved. And where should they be moved too? The top of the dresser. Yes, that's a safe spot. She kept trying, but I kept putting them back. Right now, they're under the bed, which is safer than the top of the dresser.