It's 2:00 on a Saturday morning, and I'm wired on the grande skinny cocomoco (yes, I went to Spot - *gasp*!) I guzzled down earlier this evening. Why, in the name of all things holy, did I not order decaf? Because I have declared myself "immune" from the effects of caffeine. A silly and unrealistic declaration, for sure. I'm not immune, and now I'm posting a blog entry fewer than four hours before I need to be at work for an 8-1/2 hour shift. Ugh.
I never really minded working mornings, but lately as my summer winds to a close and my social life makes a final surge before school starts in a month, I'm getting increasingly annoyed with the fact that I have to cut my nights short to go to bed so I can wake up at the crack of ass to go to work on a Saturday. I was having FUN tonight, damn it! And it was all for naught, since all I did was come home, toss and turn, and get up to post a blog entry. I could have stayed out and been in the company of interesting people instead of this.
Alas, this is the nature of the beast. Ironically, the reason I'm working in the morning is because I didn't want to work tomorrow evening in favor of going to see some beloved bands playing out. So I suppose it's, as they say, six of one and half a dozen of the other. And until I figure out a way to be independently wealthy or talk my boss into letting me work short mid-shifts on the weekends, I suppose I'm stuck.
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