In other news: I'm working 12 hour days again, and my co-workers couldn't care less about the moaning. Just so long as it's not stabbing.
Other side effects of working so much:
1. Horrible right eye twitch is back, making me look like I have winking turrets.
2. Sparkletts guy enjoys eye twitch.
3. Falling asleep at a red light, only to be awoken by an angry driver honking his A off.
4. I screamed, "Stop honking your A off!" and continued to sit at green light much to the amusement of the driver next to me.
5. "A. off?" overly friendly driver next to me said.
6. "WHAT." (aka, Bring it.)
7. Eye twitch is of course no where to be found at time like this when it would come in handy.
8. "Jeeze. Sorry."
9. Totally feel bad for yelling at stranger.
10. "If it makes you feel better I threw a pencil away today."
11. Not sure why I told him this.
12. "I'm not sure why you just told me that."
13. Is very bright stranger.
14. Before I can explain his light is green and he's gone. I am still sitting at my light which has, of course, turned red for a hundred years.
So, I'm so out of it I threw a pencil away today because it was out of lead. Where - out of lead - means it was an old fashioned sharpening pencil, the lead broke and I couldn't figure out what to do with it in two seconds, so I threw it away and opened a box of new ones only to discover They're All, All Out Of Lead!
What in the devil!
Just as I marched up to the front to tell them they had spent hard earned money on broken pencils, my brain joined me and I slowly started walking backwards out of the room, hoping no one had seen me mutter to myself, "Why don't any of these pencils have lead??"
"They do have lead you know?" the new girl said to me. She's 18, and very cheery.
"What? Oh, I know. I didn't mean lead, I meant sticking out lead." Ok, apparently my brain hasn't totally joined me yet.
"Do you mean, sharpened?"
"Sharpened?" Of course I mean sharpened! I'M TIRED.
"Want my pencil?" she said handing me her pencil because this was as far as she was going to take me in the learning process.
"No, I figured out how these work."
"Good honey," she said patting me on the arm and leaving to spread her cheer and knowledge elsewhere.
"Honey? You're 18. I'm old enough to be your mother!"
Her twelve year old mother but still. In some cultures that's normal. Don't honey me, honey. If anyone can call anyone honey it's me to you - older to younger - or same age to same age - or girlfriend to boyfriend - and you're sure as hell not my girlfriend, honey. That spot is reserved for Adam Lambert.
Or Halle Berry. (Because of course if I turn gay it will totally happen that Halle will turn too and we will obviously fall in love.)
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