November 26, 2001
Calamine, Cal-O-Mine
Exhausted. Have been worked like a dog all day by psychotic slave driving boss, and despite the laughter that comes from being in her company (she sings, dances, and fluffs poinsettias!), I am not sure it was worth it for the wear my bones have suffered.
I am not used to working at work. What the hell is this shit of all eight hours being occupied with tasks? I'm only used to about six legitimate hours; the other two eaten up in playing with blue clay and wandering aimlessly up and down the novelty aisles.
I feel like crap and should really be in bed. Should be ragging by now but am not, so body is fat and gross and mind has taken a turn for the Heinous Bitch. That, on top of slave driving Cappel's and a rather unsatisfactory letter from Ryan, I am not the happiest of campers. Hell, I am the camper that contracted poison ivy on her second day and spent the rest of the week trying to keep calomine lotion out of her hair and got teased by all the other little kids and had to sit on the lake shore and watch all the other little kids swim instead of joining them because of aforementioned calamine lotion.
I've never been to camp but am assuming that there is always this unfortunate child.
Going to go pretend to crawl into bed and instead fiddle with the Christmas lights on my walls and scrawl a few sentences on my fledgling novel and think about the tarot card project.
Or lay on my bed and stare at the ceiling until one listening to Aqueous Transmission over and over again.
Likely the latter.
astera at post haste