Having only one day off after working eight straight days was not nearly enough. I seriously do not want to go to work. My shift starts at 3:30 pm and I have to leave at 2:50 pm.
I want my paychecks to come from writing and a home based business. I have to figure out how to do that.
It’s 2:24 pm. I just finished my breakfast. I’m going upstairs to get dressed for work only because I don’t think they want me to work in my nightgown and slippers. Dern.
3:23 pm. I’m here. Sprouts. Yay. It’s not my last job. Real yay!
5:43 pm I’m on my 15. I only get this break because my shift is only five hours long. I’m hungry but, not. I think it’s anxiety. It takes me a long time to settle in and feel comfortable. It’s weird because I don’t shy away from change-good change.
7:51 pm. My roommate might have to return to the hospital. She went to the ER this morning. They sent her home with a script for antibiotics. She just texted me.
9:09 pm. I’m at my bank. I just deposited my paycheck. These paper checks are freaking me out. I swear the last time I had paper paychecks was over 20 years ago. So many perforations. So much glue. It’s weird. I’m headed home. Rose is in the hospital. She seriously needs to take probiotics.
9:44 pm. I’m home. I put on the tube-“Magnum PI,” and I’m soaking my CPAP parts. I’m gonna take a shower and have some leftovers.
I had to card this chick tonight. She looked about 19. She was trying to buy two bottles of Pinot Grigio. I asked for ID. “Do I have my passport?” she mumbled as she rifled through her teeny weeny purse. I love it when they mention their passports. They expect me to be impressed that they are able to travel to foreign lands. Oh, hey, American sounding chicky, Americans can basically go nowhere so why is it exactly you have only your passport. I mean, who cares? She finally fessed up that she couldn’t find it. I guess she’s from a teeny tiny country that has teeny tiny passports and that’s why she couldn’t find it in her teeny tiny purse. “Well, I can’t sell you this, then.” “Are you kidding me?” I already began the inward eye roll. “No, I’m not. I can’t sell you the wine.” “Well, I’m European.” Uh hum, that’s why your accent sounds like Cleveland. “And, that matters bec..,” She interrupted me, “Well, how old do you think I am?” How many, “wells,” was that? I thought. “I have no idea how old you are. Without an ID you get no alcohol” “Thhst,” she complained, turned and strode out the door. What an ass. We don’t get paid enough.
Later, I carded this guy who looked borderline 40-ish. That’s the rule, they look 40 and under you card them. He handed me his Florida driver’s license-July 1970. Then he complained about the age he turned on his last birthday. I teased him, “Oh please, I can’t believe I’m gonna turn 61 in, uh, 14 days.” “I don’t believe it.” “Yep, I don’t act it, though, I refuse.” Whooho, that’s two people who thought I was way younger. I’ll take it.
It’s 10:10 pm. Yay! Princess barfed on the couch.
It’s 10:20 pm. Princess barfed twice more. I told Rose she needs to get hairball remedy for her cat. She never takes advice.