Ever since moving here, I've noticed that I am prone to occasional states of melancholy. Actually, they are pretty frequent. I have what we'll call "episodes" at least once a day. Usually they occur while I'm at work.

You see, I live this kind of luckless existence where every job that I am hired for is excessively boring. For my first couple jobs, the first month or two was bearable. Not to sound high on myself, but I am a fairly intelligent person. [I'm lacking in some areas,obviously (**author has flashes of grade five and writing mad minutes, oh gawd), but on a whole I pick things up quickly.] My problem with my first two jobs was that I was horribly shy. I'm still a little shy, but now it's mostly just me acknowledging my distaste and poor skills at making small talk with people I don't know or have any desire to know. Anyways, I needed those two months to become comfortable with my environment and my coworkers enough to really start getting comfortable with the tasks I was supposed to perform. That might sound good... shy girl is becoming comfortable. But then you have to realize that after this point the reality about my jobs begin to sink in. There was rarely any variance in my daily tasks. There was rarely any variance in my coworkers. In fact, after awhile I usually ended up working by myself. All the time. All Alone. All the goddamn time.

I've had six different jobs since I started working at fifteen, and at three of them I spent most of my time playing solitaire on a computer. Three(!) of six. 50% of all the jobs I've had have been SO SO slow that I could play solitaire endlessly. And I still suck at it!!! So what have I gained from this experience except for a very high tolerance to the amount of time I can spend losing solitaire games.

There must be something horribly wrong with me that the only people that will hire me are those hiring for jobs that require constantly being alone, or constantly being bored, or constantly doing menial tasks for the dregs of society. I'm sure all my employers, past, present and future, all think upon the sight of me, "hmmm, this girl looks like a bloody moron. Good thing that this job gives absolutely nothing to society. She can't screw anything too much. Nope. Okay, so sometimes young impressionable children come in here. But if we keep her locked up with all the urine scented trash novels, we should be safe."

So I've worked at a photo shop that no one brought film too; a library that no one but drunks and local eccentrics came into..and the occasional really attractive tree planter; a business aid-y place that no one made use of; Shoppers Drug Mart ; a book store selling only the most popular (and usually unworthy) of novels ("yes sir we do seem to have a couple copies of the da vinci code left.... in fact, we still have 500 copies... mmm-hmm. what do i think of the book?....uh, well i'm the one human being still alive on the planet who hasn't read it.... hmm...well i did read angels and demons.... uh... well it wasn't really my type of book. well if i had to describe his writing... i'd say it was similar to an action film... enough to keep you entertained but not really noteworthy.... mhmm? ya... it's probably horribly written and pretentious. well what did you expect his name is Dan?"); and lastly, a dry cleaning drop-site. And even though I was the one who dropped off resumes at these places, I'm not entirely to blame. I dropped off at many, many other places that probably would have been better. But apparently in my last life I committed some atrocity that made the gods very angry. (Hmm, I guess urinating on the gold statue thingy wasn't such a good idea after all.) Either that, or my god this time round is trying to tell me something.

Maybe I'm just not cut out for the work force. I've always been suspicious that that was the case. Maybe I really am just cut out for marrying rich. And that's no joke.

So there really was no purpose to this post, except that I noticed this morning at work that I was in a horrible mood. Truly awful. Oddly, almost as soon as I stepped out of the store I felt a hell of a lot better. Actually the purpose of this post is probably to keep me busy. My loser boyfriend is getting sick (scoff... friggin' baby). So, he isn't entertaining me this evening. I HATE him (joke). I LOVE capitals (no joke). If I was a better actor I'd try to pull the YOU DON'T LOVE ME bit. Unfortunately, while it would provide me with unlimited enjoyment, it would probably freak him out --it's only been a couple weeks. My pride won't allow me to outright make someone think I'm a loser. Especially if I can avoid it. After all, I think I'm already pushing the limit by teasing him about his being lovers with his best friend. Maybe he should be your girlfriend. Now, THAT'S funny.

And as a great man once said....Kkkenny's cccoming to kkkill me!