(no subject)
My new home gym is sitting in walmart's catacombs as we speak, and I need only go get it. ...That being said, I find myself not rushing off to pick it up. They shouldn't have told me in their reminder email(s) that, should I not go get it, they issue a refund.
No longer is my purchase definite and absolute. I can get that money back. And, in these times, it is a sizable chunk of money.
Weighing the pros and cons is proving to be difficult, as the value of both sides are so close, that I am stuck. I WOULD like an outlet for my exercise anxieties, but there is a lot of pain also involved. ...Not exercise pain, more like lugging the thing here, assembling it over a few days, crushing my grandmother's glimmer that finally the whole house is filled with her crap, as it should be.
It is proving difficult to consider the metaphysical and philosophical banana banana banana.
I sure could use a 6-pack again, though.
I'm anxious about work, again. Frightened, indeed. It is easy to realize but hard to say that I hate my job. It is getting to the point, that every work day entails at least one altercation, where a customer is going to break down into blatantly and plainly demanding free things. Today's gentleman demanded a free computer, for his trouble. Like we had a gumball machine of them. Fuck Dell. Then, after this gentleman had talked to the whole management at once, he later called me back, 2 minutes after my punchout time, and proceeded to reiterate all his arguments, as valid as they ever had been to begin with (Not at all).
In the unlikely event no customers manage to locate a match to light my hair ablaze with, Frodo will fly out of her little snowglobe of a microcosmic Best Buy, where it's all only operating at all due to her incessant meddling, ready to take the fucking hobbits to eisengard. Using her own proprietary checks and balances to decide whom is pulling ther own weight, she eagerly awaits someone to trip the invisible tripwires she imagines about the store, so she can swoop down and file a complaint with her lollipop guild. Fuck me gently with a chainsaw.
No longer is my purchase definite and absolute. I can get that money back. And, in these times, it is a sizable chunk of money.
Weighing the pros and cons is proving to be difficult, as the value of both sides are so close, that I am stuck. I WOULD like an outlet for my exercise anxieties, but there is a lot of pain also involved. ...Not exercise pain, more like lugging the thing here, assembling it over a few days, crushing my grandmother's glimmer that finally the whole house is filled with her crap, as it should be.
It is proving difficult to consider the metaphysical and philosophical banana banana banana.
I sure could use a 6-pack again, though.
I'm anxious about work, again. Frightened, indeed. It is easy to realize but hard to say that I hate my job. It is getting to the point, that every work day entails at least one altercation, where a customer is going to break down into blatantly and plainly demanding free things. Today's gentleman demanded a free computer, for his trouble. Like we had a gumball machine of them. Fuck Dell. Then, after this gentleman had talked to the whole management at once, he later called me back, 2 minutes after my punchout time, and proceeded to reiterate all his arguments, as valid as they ever had been to begin with (Not at all).
In the unlikely event no customers manage to locate a match to light my hair ablaze with, Frodo will fly out of her little snowglobe of a microcosmic Best Buy, where it's all only operating at all due to her incessant meddling, ready to take the fucking hobbits to eisengard. Using her own proprietary checks and balances to decide whom is pulling ther own weight, she eagerly awaits someone to trip the invisible tripwires she imagines about the store, so she can swoop down and file a complaint with her lollipop guild. Fuck me gently with a chainsaw.