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Pink Plague

I am ill at home. Not that I'm ever *anywhere* but work or home, but now I'm ill at home exclusively. It's probably not cool that I'm self-medicating with Super Stuft Oreos and Orange Crush.

I have to go to buttfucking Tehachapi on Valentine's Day for a romantic stroll through prison for a purchase I'm overseeing. Today whilst resting, my manager's manager called my cell to say that her manager said I was asking for too much money in mileage on my travel expense claim? I'm not sure if I remember the convo correctly because I was delirious with fatigue and the plauge, but I think that was the gist of it.

I need to work for a department that A1) doesn't require me to go to prison on Valentine's Day, and B2) well fuck it, A1 is enough logic and reasoning. What's next, Guantanamo Bay on Easter? The more I think that phone call, the more outraged I get at my manager's manager's manager as I sit here all snotty and holding my Himalayan salt healing crystals mentally preparing for my journey into Hell next week.

But that isn't going to help me recover. Positive mental attitude, right?