Me, or the blog. I’m predictably busy and borderline psychotic. Why in the hell did I think it was a good idea to give my last day at work only TWO days before I was moving? That gives me almost no cushion time to frantically pack at the last minute. Instead, I’m staying up till 3 AM packing, then getting up and going to work early and busting ass all day to try and get things settled here, then I go home and start packing again.
I am no fun right now. And also: No blogging! (clearly)
But, I swear my blog isn’t dying. Once I get there (ON SUNDAY OH MY HOLY FREAKING SHIT), I will hopefully get this back up and going and I’ll be funny and witty and charming and I won’t be writing every day about how coooooold it is or how sick I am of painting or how stressed I am that I STILL DON’T HAVE A JOB.
(Oh, hi there pretty, pretty blog reader. Do you live in Massachusetts and want to pay me to do something historical? I can do it! I’m you’re girl. Only please don’t make me come to work when it is snowing/icy/sleeting/hailing/frozen, ok? And also, I’d really like health insurance and 8 weeks of vacation. And just for the record, there are people out there who actually get 8 weeks of vacation a year [My MOTHER!] [no, seriously, she actually gets EIGHT WEEKS OF VACATION])
I hope you didn’t actually believe that previous statement about me not writing about cold weather. Because did you know that it is cold in Massachusetts? The low today is 47 goddamn degrees. In September. Forty Seven degrees is cold to me. Really cold. And it is only September.
(I’m going to die)
So stay tuned!
(To see me dying!)
I’ll be back next week, hopefully gainfully employed and not murdering my boyfriend so that I can crawl inside of his carcass to stay warm. Ummmm…yikes. Sorry about that horrifying image. Turns out that is only funny if you are talking about yaks or something. I told you I was borderline psychotic.
aw, you’re not that psychotic
oh sorry, I should warn you, that comic manages to put a lot of penises in a panel.
the only thing worse than not having 8 weeks of annual leave is dating someone with 8 weeks of annual leave. but i cannot complain because the international humanitarian world feels as though its employees need 6 weeks of leave, for which i will not complain.
happy moving!
Last week my boss asked me to resume the duties of personnel manager–after much protest I agreed as long as he would give me another week of vacation. Correction, Taylor, it’s now 9 weeks…
I am pretty sure I have only had about six weeks of vacation since this time in 2005.
Of course I don’t have a real job either. So most of those weeks included large books about blood and genes, and no getting paid while I’m at the beach.