&%$#

Dear Friday:

Seriously. Fuck you. Instead of getting up and preparing to be 45 minutes early for work and getting the alloted overtime, I’m not just in time to be slightly early. And in an incredibly bad mood on top of that. Instead of waking up refreshed, I couldn’t sleep. Now I feel like I’ve pulled a muscle in my shoulder. Instead of nice shoes, I have rainy, grassy shoes. My nose is KILLING ME, ruining all of my makeup because my allergies are going crazy. Because I had to walk through our giant lot of crazy squirrels and spiderwebs to our “backup” car. Because my beautiful BB absolutely refuses to start. Yes, absolutely refuses. Wouldn’t last night either, when I tried to take her to go out for a wash. I now get to spend the only bonus check I’ve ever received in my entire working career (No, I didn’t get to have fun with that “stimulus” check in 2008 because I had to use it to pay bills, because I was ever-so-lovingly laid off with so much as 5 minutes notice to part time, oh, and my tax return this year? What a fucking joke. Apparently I’m worth way more when I make half as much money or am laid off) fixing your broken self. I hope you’re happy, because I cried on the way to work today. Now I have to use this stupid fucking “back up” all weekend, with no radio, there’s actually a possibility some guy likes me, and now he’s going to be completely disgusted by your appearance and this will be the last time I see him.

Well, excuse me, I have to go work until 11 tonight.

THANKS LIFE. THANKS A LOT.