*hums*

Work. Drama! Only... not really. I get there and the three managers on duty are all crowded into the tiny hallway where the timeclock is. Thus making it a bitch to clock in. As I'm attempting to duck out, I'm given the lecture on the code to call if we're robbed and a reminder that you can, in theory, call 911 from any of our phones. o_O So I head out, take over for Jeffrey, and find out that a second Walgreens [I think] was robbed. Some dude actually robbed the one pharmacist I'd bet money could kick his crackhead ass. Balls of steel, man.

So, I spent the first few hours trying to get a description of the dude they were expecting to come back and rob us. You see, they think he was casing the joint [hee!] earlier. Hence the reminder about what to do when the store gets robbed.

Dude never came back. Woe.

I then marveled at Kathleen's ability to take more than an hour and a half to do nothing but sweep the floor. And I mean nothing. She didn't stop to chat, or pick things up, or anything. Just... swept the floor. I haven't the words...

I need to brush my hair.

Oh. Dido thoughts, but no pictures just yet. She's adorable. I'm leaning towards calling her Kate [mom said Katie and the immediate thought was, "fuck no." Luckily I didn't say that.] but I'm not sure. Anyway, the thing people don't tell you about her is that in that pretty shock of purple hair, there are blue strands. Tis most awesome. Also, if you look at her from one side, she seems to look at you out of the corner of her glittery eye. The other side, not so much. Love the soles of her boots. I could pet them all day long...

*yawn* Not so random craving for the Rob Thomas CD. Must. Resist.

edit new icon. Woo!

because I think Heidi asked about her...

She's sitting down when her life finally spirals down into nothing, the tiny strings that have been holding everything together have frayed and torn apart. She'd been doing so well, everyone said so. Everyone, it seemed, was easily fooled by a thousand horrible jokes and a million half smiles. She'd gotten so used to them that she'd begun to fool herself.

But she didn't fool the cat. The cat who was busy, at that very moment, threading his way around her ankles, trying to get her attention. Just some affection, a little scratch on the head, a tickle under the chin, perhaps a belly rub if she were really lucky.

All she can do is sit, slumped over, so that her hands are dangling a few inches above the floor, occasionally swaying this way and that as the cat rubs up against them.

She can't cry, she's fairly sure her tear ducts broke six months ago, if such a thing is possible. If not, well, maybe all those months of willing herself to be strong have cost her the ability to cry, though God knows right now it might be the only thing to save her from herself.

What good is it all when it's all so fleeting? One minute you're here, curled up beside someone watching a horrible movie, the next you're alone, killing time until death manages to claim everyone else you've ever cared about. The cat, a cat she loves so dearly that anytime she thinks he might be dying, she cries and shells out money she doesn't have to take him to the vet only to find out he's fine, one day he won't be. Fine, that is. He'll die and leave her and all she'll be left with is the faint memory of rubbing her nose because of all the cat hair in the air. So what does it matter if she ignores him this once? In the end it all turns out the same way, doesn't it?

The thoughts aren't wrong, but she knows they aren't exactly right either. Only it's as if she's gone and stumbled into a hallway where there are no doors and no windows, and there's no light at all except the dying light she brought with her. And with every step she takes the light fades until she's afraid to move at all because what if the next step is the one that plunges her into darkness? It's not so much that she's afraid of the dark, she's more afraid she'll want to stay there.

Still, the cat begins to paw at her listless hands, demanding the attention he's sure he rightly deserves, and for the life of her, she can't figure out how to make him go away. He hops up into her lap, or he tries to anyway. His claw gets stuck on the carpet and she watches him struggle for a minute before she reaches out and unhooks the claw, pulling him close to her. She doesn't mind when his fur floats up in wispy clouds, all headed straight for her nose, and for awhile all the noise in her head stops as she listens to him purr.

aaaaaargh

...I have absolutely no appetite. None. Nada. Which is odd since I love spaghetti. On the other hand, maybe if someone hadn't thrown away my stuff, I wouldn't be so mad I could throttle someone!

I woke up to find out it was a) 7:30 and b) to find out that my father and brother began cleaning out the garage. Bully for them, except they THREW OUT MY STUFF! There was like, nothing of Dad's in the pile of crap by the street, and some of sean's, but two giant boxes [I wasn't kidding when I said I tried everything to avoid moving, including packing horribly] of my stuff. To make things worse? One was chock full of my books, and the other included more books and my freakin' My Little Ponies, which when asked about years ago, I was told were obviously in the middle of the junk pile and thus not easily found. But you can't tell me the boy and Dad dug to the middle to find stuff to throw out already. They threw my stuff out! [and, I should note, lots of mom's. ]

And I didn't find out until it had been sitting at the side of the road for hours. And since I was out there for all of twenty minutes trying to lug the verrrrrry heavy boxes back to the house and had no less than ten people eye the pile of stuff, I worry about what people had already helped themselves to. AUGH!

You do not throw my books away. You do not throw my stuff away. You do not tell me you'll be going through stuff on Sunday/Monday and then wait until Wednesday, after 1pm, and then sneakily like ninjas throw my stuff away and not expect some serious 16 year old drama queen, omygodyou're ruining mylife, would it have killed you to fucking wake me up, what kind of idiots are are you rants, okay?

For the record, of that little rant, I only uttered the wake me up one, kay? Maturity, thy name is Imp.

Annnnnnnd in other news, good news I might add, Paja finally arrived. Fangirl moment? OMG! So pretty. The eyes are both freaky and gorgeous. Oh yes. The love.

Gotta go. Use of new icon once more, only now I mean it.