my skin is slowly recovering from sunburn hell '09, but my crippling post-cottage depression remains.
i HATE my job. it makes me miss the days i spent crying in my closet at mAnnick depression - at least they had a cookie cupboard. i've had some awful jobs - miserable every day and praying to get hit by a car on the way to work just to get a break. i was lucky enough to have two jobs that i loved and miss desperately every day (shelley and larzipan - best bosses ever!) that spoiled me for the rest of the working world. i didn't have to spend 10 minutes sanitizing my work area with alcohol wipes only to have my desk poached an hour later when i was working those carefree days on the danforth.
when i was little all i wanted to do was be a roller skating waitress . i used to practice by skating circles around my mom's blue escort. i was very optimistic that roller skate based careers would be plentiful in my adulthood. instead i sit in a disease infested cube all day with nary a convertible t bird waiting for milkshakes in sight.
michelle and i often talk about how people who dream aren't cut out for this life because each day that doesn't involve pink baby lambs frolicking through lavender fields or eating chocolate dipped strawberries under the shade of hundred year old maples is a never ending parade of disappointment. going to work for me is like being anally raped by the devil's pitch fork all day - only less enjoyable.
if anyone can tell me what the hell i'm supposed to be doing with my life, please let me know. until then, if you need me i'll be sitting here watching my sunburn peel.