Nick's taking his MPRE this morning and I noticed that he forgot his salad in the fridge, so now I'm in hyper-pseudo-wife mode. I wonder if he ate anything at all. I wonder if he's okay or if by now he's got a headache the size of Kansas. I wonder when he's coming home and if he's going to head straight for the scotch or if I get a kiss "hello". At least the Cubs game is tonight and Zambrano's pitching and he's already broken out his nice camera....
Work is pretty terrible. I can see why they refer to my position as the "revolving door". No one stays. My boss scolds me in front of customers and puts me in such bad shape that by the time I hit my apartment's door I'm ready to bite someone's head off and shit down their neck. I don't know why she hates me. Why her beady blue eyes glare at me from beneath her red bangs that are attached to that red bob (that I'm convinced is a wig) and those jowls aid her pinched lips in her face's permanent glare. I try really hard at work to be everything she wants me to be: pleasing, accommodating, patient, helpful, a whipping boy. Nothing seems to work. Maybe I'll get fired. I've never been fired from a job before. Can you imagine?
- the possibility that Carlos Zambrano will break a bat over his thigh tonight
- knowing I got my first paycheck (a small one, but income nevertheless) and I can eat Greek food soon
- seeing Nick smile at the baseball game
- getting my lab coat tomorrow
- Jason texting me about how pretty the moon was last night when it wasn't even dark here yet