I've tried to write something interesting and funny four times now, and can't think of anything to say. Ani DiFranco has this wonderful lyric in one of her songs which goes along the lines of "Somebody's gotta be interested in how I feel, just because I'm here and I'm real." Sometimes life feels very much like that, like just because I'm around someone should give a damn.

A friend of mine, whom I haven't spoken to in awhile, asked how I was the other day online. How am I supposed to answer that? I'm as good as I can be whilst working in my version of hell and using all my self control not to scream at the bitchy women who are allowed to be rude to me but to whom I have to be excruciatingly polite. I'm happy except that I can't pay my bills, and all I think about is if I can find another job that pays me more and how much I'll hate whatever I do find. I'm good except that I feel like most of the last three years has been a total waste. I'm doing okay, but everything is going wrong.

Trying to make a cd for my sister that is 11 years younger than me is difficult. Not only is she 11 years younger, but I also haven't really been around pretty much at all for the last 6 years, so in my head she's still 7. Do I use loads of songs that I loved when I was her age? Does she even know who Nirvana are? Does she like them? Or has she been overwhelmed by the idiocy of pop? It depresses me that I don't know her. I look at my best friend and her older brother, and wish that I could have that kind of relationship with J, but since I was stupid and moved to another country that's not going to happen. I talk to her on the phone sometimes, but since I'm worried about the gas bill and if I'm going to have enough for food this week and she's worried about her soccer tournament on Saturday and if Billy-who-sits-next-to-her likes her, I just don't know what to say. Maybe someday I'll figure it out.

No posting for quite some time, mostly because my job at the Major Fashion Retailer has taken over my sad little life. I'm working there full time right now, but will still be totally unable to pay all my bills next month. The addition of my student loan repayments mean that I'm going to have to either a) work 7 days a week at two jobs and still be dirt-ass poor or b) find another job. So right now I'm working 7 days a week at two jobs, and am looking for a different one. It doesn't help that the job with the Major Fashion Retailer is sucking my soul, and every second I'm there feels like my brain cells are committing hari-kiri just so they don't have to realize the pointlessness of their existance.

When I was 19 I went travelling with my friend J. for seven weeks. I'd somehow managed to convince my parents that instead of finishing up my sophomore year of college, I should wander around France, Germany and Italy. J. was in her senior year of college, and many of our conversations involved the mention of the "White Dove of Inspiration" sent from above to tell her what she was supposed to do after she graduated.

My white dove has dressed up like a pidgeon, joined a gang that orchestrates attacks on unwary pedestrians, and told the powers-that-be where to shove it.

My residency visa came! They're not kicking me out! This is very exciting as it has taken them since early August to decide if I'm allowed to stay over here or not. I finally got my passport back, just in time to save me from being fired at my job in retail land. The passport has a massive sticker with a picture of me looking like an idiot. Being typical governmental employees, they've stuck the sticker on the page after the logical page to place it on. Go Home Office!

I've noticed as I get sucked back into the pettiness of working in retail, my anal retentive side is once again coming to light. I was forced to man a certain section of the store on Saturday that is one of the two Absolutely Most Boring Places in the Store to Work Ever. Whilst trying to make the nine and a half hour shift go by faster, I folded things. I folded them so perfectly, and sized them, and put little size stickers on them, and made sure all the colours were together. If the distict manager had walked in he would have approached me on his knees, worshipping my miracle of folding and my stickering ability. Moments later, someone came along and reached for an item in the middle of a stack, yanked it out, and spilt the rest of the pile on the floor. Glancing at me, she grabbed the pile and shoved it back on the shelf, scarring my stunning display of fabric. My brain screeched "MotherfuckerhowdareyoufuckIjustspent40
minutesdoingthatAAAGGHHH!!!!" and my mouth said "Are you finding the size you're looking for okay?"