Working is Hard to Do

26 11 2012

I spend my days with water, lemonade, soda, champagne, and who knows what else everywhere, get splashed with backwash, carrying heavy things, sweeping the floor, and plating desserts. It is hard work. I don’t get paid much; well, maybe somewhere else, if I was someone else, who had cheaper taste, who wasn’t exposed to better and more expensive things.

The worst part? I’m not really at all mentally stimulated, I’m prideful enough to feel above it, and have just a hard enough time to feel stupid. Also, I feel like I’m being constantly corrected or watched, which is  making me paranoid. In short, I am not having happy fun times. If anything was incentive to get a real job and finish my degree, it would be this. I need to make a budget and save for school. Quickly.

***

Today I spent a sizable chunk  of money on…LUSH STUFF! YAY! God, that stuff is not cheap. But the Buffy Bar  (exfoliating and moisturizing) made me feel soft and smell good, and there was a green bath bomb that fizzed in the water that made all my aches go away. I felt completely pampered, and that was totally worth it. Also, I got a giant ginger snap cookie. Mm, chewy and spice.

I have to get back on plan tomorrow. I haven’t tracked since Thanksgiving, I’ve been eating all kinds of stuff. Back on track tomorrow. I can’t believe how easy it was to get off track! I thought it was just going to be for Thanksgiving, and now it’s three days later and I’m all ‘Yay chocolates and cookies and sweet potato casserole’. I probably gained weight, but I’m not going to stress about it. Back on plan tomorrow.

***

British Boy and I are penfriends now, and we e-mail every day at least a couple times. Of course I want him to be my long distance boyfriend, but I’m pretty sure that he’s not interested in that. Which is just frustrating, because he’s sweet, and flirty, and cute, and makes me smile. I am crushing so hard. But c’est la vie. No, no c’est la vie. I want him to be my boyfriend, and I’m only sex and penfriend material. Man, between this and my job my self esteem is taking a beating! …I wish I was Stephen King. …except not. I just want to be able to pay for myself my way, in a way that I don’t find beneath me. (Wow, that was arrogant.) But, I’ll be honest, I think I’m too smart for the job I have. Like the rest of my generation. Oy vey. Okay, time for sleep.

 

Sincerely yours,

J.J

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