I keep starting entries in WordPad, saving them, and never updating. I don't know what my problem is.

Wait, yes I do: part of my brain -- the part that keeps finds satisfaction in completing tasks -- fell out on the busride yesterday and was stepped upon by a urine-soaked bum who proceeded to toss it to the pigeons, who picked at it for a minute and then left it for the foot traffic.

Speaking of pigeons, two days in a row now I have witnessed the fattest pigeon Ever meandering Market St. It had two significantly smaller pigeons that follow it around, eating the food the larger pigeon leaves behind. I like to think that the fat one is the pimp, the two smaller ones his bitches. It amuses me.

I might be taking on another job, but I don't even know if I have an interview yet. The employment agency I signed up with three months ago just got back to me with a part-time receptionist gig that would, in addition to my current job, erradicate my debt in seven months And allow me to eat more than government cheese. Except, I would be working 55 hour weeks in addition to school and that part of my brain that keeps me sane would be fed to the pigeons as well.

Another thing that has come up in recent hours is the possibility of moving into a new apartment in the same building. Three floors lower, pretty much the same view, better layout that gives the illusion of more space (more junior 1-bedroom, less studio), same price and possibly cheaper if I play my cards right, but it doesn't have a dishwasher, nor does it have a brand new stove. Aaron has promised to do all the dishes by hand, and he desperately wants the place. I'm relatively ambivalent, save for the stresses of moving. At least this time I would only be moving three floors instead of five hundred miles.

I consulted an online magic 8 ball regarding my current dilemmas and it kept telling me to ask later. The online tarot reading was less help. And so, I implore you, dear readers, to give me some bloody advice.

The car registration is going smoother than I would have thought. Which is nice.

Oh, and another problem with accepting another job: of the three employees at my work, one quit without giving notice. So until we hire a new girl, I'm working overtime. Because that's exactly what I need. More hours of mindless work to get my mind off...uh, how all I ever do is work.

Here is something I wrote at work, post unpleasant customer:

"Like she's doing me a favor. She rolls her eyes, her stare landing on me and smiles tightly, another annoying nobody, trying desperately to please her and only her. Look, lady, I'm not here to appease you, I'm here to make money for the Supreme Being, the Owner, so that in turn, He will pay me more. By asking you if you wanted me to take from your well-toned arms the items you've selected and place them in the fitting room, I was only trying to free up some space so that you may grab more stuff I'll doubtless be cleaning up in fifteen minutes, I wasn't trying to make your shopping experience easier; I was trying to fool you into thinking that you needed to buy more.

I mean -- what the fuck? I'm sorry to PESTER you, ma'am, I'm sorry to have INTERRUPTED the magnificent thoughts you must have while deciding between lime green or purple workout shorts.

'I'm just trying to help.'

when really:

'I'm just trying to keep from blowing my brains out here, lady. I don't know what you do for a living, but me? I'm an actress. A manipulator. I convince people that I care about what clothes they buy. I make people think that that color is good on them. I pretend to listen to what you're saying, pretend to respond. I bat my eyelashes at the guys who come in, laugh when they flirt back, dying a thousand deaths inside. For the majority of my week, I have to pretend to be what you want me to be. Oh, how I hate you all: you, whose biggest worries right now are deciding between the colors lime and purple. You, who neglect to acknowledge me when I perkily chirp, 'Hi how are you?' YOU, who pick through everything in the store without trying anything on, let alone buying anything, leaving me to clean up the mess. I'm nobody's maggot! Fuck you! And your mother!'

But I'm not bitter."

one year ago today: "otherwise my common sense might catch up with my emotions and thoughts may lose passion. the horror!" and "shouldn't you perhaps be a little scared and maybe just a little supportive of the people who fucking volunteered to maintain the relative safety of the nation?"

two years ago today: "I will look like a snowflake with a face."

three years ago today: nothin.