Monday

Got here late. Listened to Boss read memo's I had in my email. Left the meeting early to take care of a candidate who didn't have any of his shit together. Par for the course, as my end didn't have their shit together either.
It's 9am, I just caught a break, I have a stack of work to do, an email inbox that is overflowing, and a broken blood vessel in my right eye from the deluge of compounded shit I ended up dealing with last night. It wouldn't bother me so much that I look like a stoner except it feels like my eyeball is swollen and that is a little distracting.
My left shoulder blade has had an accompanying knot since the Wednesday drive. I can't get it to loosen up. I can't get a friend to work it out for me. I don't know where they do massages around here. All that tension next to my spine and moving toward my neck isn't helping my exhausted mood. I am about to get on another ibuprofin buzz, just so my fingers don't go numb while I do this fucking data entry from the 9 interviews my coworkers crammed into 2 half days that they need done RIGHT NOW like before the standard Super High Priority Monday Morning stack of shit I always have to do.

Yeah. Susie Sunshine is still MIA. Don't expect her soon, the search party is on break. I'm somehow wikedly content to be fucking miserable. I don't even fake a smile anymore. Its Sassy, with a dark cloud, a pitchfork, and the stare that frightens small children. I'm hungry, I'm uncaffeinated, I'm puffy in the face from too much crying and not enough sleep, and it rained last night so my avoidance of laundry leaving me in a skirt suit means my shoes and stockinged legs and hem were dripping by the time I got to my car. I hate being wet. Wish me luck, I read a diet plan and how little I should be eating and I am nearly convinced that the reason I sleep with men on the first date is to win their affections so they keep calling me back but its backfiring to the extreme and I think if I were skinny I would let myself think they would call me back even if I weren't sleeping with them. Diet pills will be added when I can muster the energy to deal with a store, until then, its counted calories no matter what my stomach says and hard core excercise until I can't see straight before bed. Unfortunately it looks like my prefered method will be short lived, and instead of silk and latex as accessories I'll be strapped by sprorts bras and entertained by iPod.

Fuckity fuck. Fuck it. Water and Work. Fuck it. Life is too short for this bullshit, but since I'm psychologically ready for a WEEK LONG MELTDOWN, I guess I should suck it up and get it out of my system good and hard so MAYBE whenever Susie peeks out she has a fighting chance of not getting the shit pummeled out of her.