Breanne is a Blowfish

I'm wondering where all of this is going; when things will stop or start or subside or whatever else there is to do. I'm wondering why it's taking so long, why I have to wait. I never knew I was so impatient. I ask why they bounce me back and forth among themselves, bounce me against the gym wall like kids in a schoolyard. So much fun. I'm wondering why the hell they don't give me any straight answers, why they won't give me anything at all. Everything is murky and it seems as if they like it that way. They sit back and watch me or bat me around and wonder why I'm a little pissy. I wonder who put them in charge, who gave them a degree, or if they even know what they're talking about. I feel like saying, "I know all you're writing down are doodles and your grocery list, so can we just be done?" I wonder what God was so busy with when he was supposed to be handing out wit and humor to these people. Just one joke, I plead in my head as the minutes tick by. Alas, I am bereft. I'm still wondering when this will all get put in a yellow vial and wrapped up in a pretty little bow; when I can bring it home like a new puppy - a new puppy that does not nauseate me, make me shaky or tired or fat. Again, I think I am out of luck.

In other news: isn't family wonderful? Estrangement invokes such a warm and cozy feeling. Especially when you walk out your door, and see it glaring at you from half-way down the block. Everyday. For 3 years. Estrangement wraps it's wonderful icy arms around you every time you answer the phone and it's there on the other end, hanging up because it hates you. It's quite the conversation starter - great at family gatherings and the like. It leaves it's footprint everywhere; you find out how much it likes to talk about you behind your back, saying such nice things.Thank you so much, estrangement, for your contribution to the world, and making life sooo much easier. No hard feelings? (Handshakes ensue; fingers crossed behind back)

Priorities and Hermits

Have you ever had a moment of realization that blows your mind and then 5 minutes later, you go, "Meh," and then just carry on the way you were? Welcome to my brain. It makes me laugh at myself and also feel a little bad because I know I should do things but decide it's not important enough. Like taking my vitamins, or breathing deeply, or painting or writing or finishing a thought, or taking time off when your boss tells you to, or sleeping, or taking not sleeping seriously. I figure I can do all of those things later, when they're absolutely unavoidable. For now I'd just rather think and work and clean my room and become a hermit. Except I think I'll still shave my legs; apparently hermits can't be bothered to run to the store and buy razors. I guess they don't get out much.

Fort Mac is like Las Vegas; no one should actually live there.

So you've finally guilted me into blogging. Also, it just so happened that today is my day off... work is good. I knew where I work and who I work with is great, but I never fully appreciated it until I got sent somewhere else. I would not wish Fort McMurray on anyone. Seriously. It's full of crazy, GREEDY people. When I found out I was going, the first thing everyone said to me was "Don't get knocked up." I thought the talk about women not working there and cranking out kids was an overblown stereotype - and then promptly, upon arriving, found out it's true. I have never seen so many pregnant women in my entire life. For real. It's creepy. They really don't work, get pregnant, and spend their husbands' money. And they've got a lot of it. Forget the gas crisis out there - all you see on the streets are HUGE trucks, SUVs, and luxury gas guzzlers. I can't help but think perhaps they're compensating for something...? Anyway, the store was a short-staffed, ill-run, under-stocked, messy, dusty sauna. I nearly fainted. I called my boss up after getting to the hotel (which I stayed in illegally, by the way. That's how bad the housing crisis is out there.) that first night and was like, "Jenn, I love you! Get me out of here!" The staff would watch me as I stocked the store, chattering on behind the counter. Oh yeah, they're also a high volume store, so there'd be at least 10 people in there at all times, and none of them helped them out at all. They literally watched me as I ran around the store and then rang in my sales - huge sales - under their numbers. I've never been so happy to be home. Really. I think Fort Mac is like Las Vegas; no one should actually live there.