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All I Do is Bitch

Due to a constant stream of puking headaches, I made the decision to stay home today. Probably not wise, as I've recently been tasked with ordering dozens of tampon dispensers. They don't go away.

Feeling alienated right now. I feel like I felt when I came home and told Jon about the ladie's reaction to me having the lights above my cubicle changed (to put on sunglasses and whisper about me) and he replied that "all I do is bitch." It was like a slap in the face that stung and lingered, and over the last couple of days, I can feel the outline burn red as the issue resurfaces with my fiance.

But I think about my friend whom I email at work when I'm feeling social. I'll ask her how her day and life are going and immediately be hit with a wave of emo about how she'll be single forever and no one will ever love her. It drags me down and makes me aggro for a couple of reasons. 1) I had been in a good mood, and 2) that's only the case becase she's obviously made it her reality. So maybe that's what those closest to me are feeling when I state that the woman in the next cubicle over needs a stick and a bubbling cauldron to go with her cackling that I could then shove her in to prevent puking headaches.

Most recently, I am upset that I have missed the garbage truck even after stumbling out of bed at 6:00 something in the morning and running onto the scratchy dead lawn with my garbage bag full of really gross things. I came back in the house and waved the remote at the smart TV so that I could play years of my last.fm radio through my it. Enya comes on repeatedly. "On my way home, I remember only good days," I think she sings over the many layers of Enyaness.

I guess I need to try that. Despite turning older and yet more barren, I am looking forward to my vacation in September over my birthday. We're going to the beach on San Luis Obispo. I'll be wearing this though: http://i5.photobucket.com/albums/y175/velouria5/pantaloons.jpg

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