10.28.2005 ||> That I'm doing the happy dance is implied
Today is my last day at work. I can't imagine that doing a good job will be my highest priority today, but with my need to be perfect, who can tell?
Labels: work
We see our heroine, awash in her own misery, drowning in the tears and the bile leaking from her broken heart. So melodramatic. Suddenly, the phone rings. She gets up to answer it.
S - Hello?
Life - Hey Seps, it's Life. I've heard that you've been leaving messages on my voicemail.
S - Yeah, I'm pretty pissed at you. What was up with that shit going down with my mother? I thought you were on my side.
L - Yeah, I know. I was afraid that with this new job, I'd be giving you too much. If your mom had tried to relate to you or support you, it would have been too much. You'd be too happy to work for what you have.
S - But all I'm doing now is blubbering and thinnking about writing bad poetry.
L - You mean like the poetry you used to write when you were 16? That's really not necessary. I'm sorry.
S - You should be. Jerk.
L - Ok, ok. But... this is your last week at your crappy job.
S - No. You owe me bigger.
L - Well, you won that raffle at Bath and Body Works and all that cool smelly stuff. It's a huge basket.
S - You're getting better. But I still want my mommy.
L - Sorry kid, you lost her years ago. Best just to let go and all that.
S - Easy for you to say.
