It's a numbers game.

Really? Because I'd probably subsitute "stupid" or "fucking absurd" for "numbers."

This place is getting to me, and I have to let it not. It's Friday and I'm exhausted and still sick so anything that isn't great is probably going to ruffle me a little bit. This morning, I received (second-hand) a "complaint" because someone who I'll call N told my supervisor that my "head was down" when she walked by the reception desk yesterday. What? I can think of any number of reasons why my head would have been less-than-erect. Probably because it was too laden down with murderous thoughts and destructive ideas! Bwa ha ha! Really, though-- WHO FUCKING COMPLAINS ABOUT A TEMP RECEPTIONIST?! My whole thing here has been to not let 'em get to me, not let 'em get to me. And after a week and a half...my resolve is fading a little.

My co-reception zog, Matt, said that maybe I'll be asked to come back next week. Yesterday, that sounded like a great idea. Today...not so great.

I'm so worried about money.


Okay, I have to stop writing this because I feel the panicky tears welling in my puffy, under-rested eyes and I'd like to quit while I'm ahead.....after all, I've got 8 more hours to be here today. And all I have for lunch is cereal. I think a more appropriate title for this post would be "A coffe and a java all day."


Ok-- A few hours later, I've calmed down and am editing this. I'm not supposed to use this blog for personal ranting- that's what my ancient, creaking Xanga is for. I'm supposed to use this for pretentious discussions.

So-- here's some snark, fresh and hot off the griddle of The New York Times:

"I passed a night of unmingled wretchedness,” pants the tortured title character in one of many a palpitating passage in Mary Shelley’s gothic novel “Frankenstein.”
After passing a similar night, courtesy of the new musical version of Shelley’s tale that opened last night at 37 Arts, I can only say, “Victor, buddy, I know where you’re coming from.”

Is that great, or what? Hot damn. What if you got a review like that? Jesus. I'd never read the NYT again.