oy vey

Blogger is just my diary, to be honest. Or rather, my journal. Why is it "diary" for a female and "journal" for a male? Because society is EFFED UP. Kidding. But it is.

So I've had a few good cries today. They weren't good. I take that back. The first one resulted in a bloody nose, which got all over my carpet, coat, and kitchen wall. And face. And in my hair. I felt like an episode of CSI. My second cry came this afternoon after I read an email from my cool supervisor basically lecturing me on missing work today. He has no idea how rare it is for me to not come into work, so maybe he thinks I'm flaky. I am flaky, sure, but only when it comes to relationships. Work? Like it or not, I'm pretty much a brown noser. BUT I TAKE ONE SNOW DAY AND SUDDENLY I'M THE WORST PERSON IN THE WORLD. See. This is why I never took snow days before. Bummer City. I could go on and on about how disappointing that job has been, how most of my coworkers make me feel, at best, lame and, at worst, invisible. I don't get paid much, I only work about 12 hours a week, I'm not pretty enough for one of the dudes in charge to flirt with me, and soooo on. But I don't want to dwell on it. I don't need to dwell on it. As is common with me, I'm most likely making it out to be a bigger deal than it actually was. Still. I put in a lot of work and very rarely do I get credit; the only feedback I get is negative when I take a legitimate day off. Grumble.

I don't know. I'm kinda melancholy right now. I guess I don't feel much like writing. Or reading (gasp). Or cleaning or walking (bigger gasp) or eating (you can't gasp any louder) or crying or talking or praying or sledding or shopping or meditating or jump roping or tight-rope walking. Shoveling. I feel like shoveling.

Blank.