Friday night I dreamed that Patrick Stump and I were BFFs, and then he professed his undying love to me. I was confused by it all. Then we went to a pool party at my parents house. Some folks that I sorta knew had come in and crashed the party, so I bit them. Bit them in the faces. Blood was everywhere.
Saturday night, I dreamed that The Kardashians were thinking of hiring me as their personal assistant. My interview/audition was washing dishes.
I know I had another dream last night, but I cannot recall it. I’m thinking this is probably for the best.
I spent a large part of this weekend wracked with anxiety. Wish I knew why. Saturday I was just convinced that I was the most horrible person on earth. I had done SOMETHING wrong, I was sure of it. I suppose that feeling is not much different from most days for me, but for whatever reason, it was amplified.
Work is busy as always. I really don’t know how other people manage. How other people are not utterly exhausted and drained and have nothing left. Don’t want to talk. Don’t want to exist.
It’s payroll week, can you tell? Can you tell that I’ve got even more job orders to work on, whilst wrangling timecards?
I don’t even know what to say anymore. It’s all the same blah-blah bullshit. No one gives a fuck.