Sometimes I can be such a goddamn fucking drama queen. I finished Dry by Augusten Burroughs today and it seriously fucked me up.
My boss is a fucking asshole. "I meant to ask you if you wanted more hours since Nancy is on vacation to pick up the slack [but now there is only one more day left in the week so the chance has come and gone. Oops.]" Am I supposed to think he's generous because he thought of giving me more hours but then didn't? Anyway, more hours mean nothing: well, no, that's not true: they could mean an extra fifty to sixty bucks. Who cares about fifty to sixty bucks extra. It's not going to change what I want to change, which is my state of mind. I wanna quit feeling like I can't afford anything. Sixty bucks won't fix that: only a new job will.