i may not know what day it is

but I know the week very well.
it's the week where all i listen to is metal. when the words "destroy" "dismember" and "disembody" pop into my mental vocabulary on a daily basis. I find that I just like to say them all quietly to myself. It's the week where everyone constantly asks me "what's wrong?" because my face is all expression-less and telling all of my secrets. It's the week where I only want cheese covered carbs, sit in a sweaty Domino's for 15 minutes to find the much more delicious Two Boots was already on my kitchen table.
This is hell week. and it's not even the one that involves my uterus.

So I realized a small part of why I hate my job so much. The uniform. I've never had to wear a uniform before. I've been asked to look like every other person in the room- each outfit more ill-fitting than the last. There is a very strong correlation between how I feel about my appearance and my attitude. In order for my 'tude to be on positive end of the Sassa-frass to Sarcasti-frass scale, I must be pleased with my appearance.

Unfortunately, wearing an all black suit that doesn't fit properly, accompanied a t-shirt with a neckline so high even a nun would laugh and all black sneakers is so unfashionable it's a mystery people buy clothing from me. But I digress.

I just ate a medium Domino's pizza and a slice of Two Boots. I'm going to work on this Pacifico Clara and take a phone call. Excuse me, life.