Why do I keep doing this?
Jul. 26th, 2005 01:15 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
starzkiI probably shouldn't be doing
this at work, but I took an allergy pill whose name I can't spell and it
made me all sleepy and I'm not actually good for any work. So
I've been messing around and I thought I might try journalling.
I went out again with a few of the Usual Suspects last night. I did not get as teased about bringing the Crush home with me as I thought I would. Apparently he makes a habit of not going home and crashing at whoever's house he ends up with that night. Now I feel special. :-( Not that I wanted anything to happen. I really didn't and I still don't. But I'm starting to not so much crush on the guy but actually like him which pretty much spells disaster for me.
Well, I don't think I'm doing any better at trying to gather personal thoughts in writing than I was in doing actual work. That last sentence itself took three tries to get right. I feel drunk, but it's the damn medication.
Something different:
The department coordinator found a site for job offerings for students:
DC: Hey, it says here that this woman is looking for smart, pretty women who are well-versed in world affairs and politics to accompany high-level executives and CEO's to business lunches and dinners. (to me, joking) Are you interested?
Me: In being a prostitute? No thanks.
DC: It says here she pays $40 an hour.
Me: (reconsidering)
I'm kind of tired of being poor. But those poor bastards would be in trouble if they tried to hire me. I have a tendency to speak my mind when pissed off and something tells me a room full of stuffy old white rich men would piss the hell out of me.
I should really not journal when I'm chemically altered.
I went out again with a few of the Usual Suspects last night. I did not get as teased about bringing the Crush home with me as I thought I would. Apparently he makes a habit of not going home and crashing at whoever's house he ends up with that night. Now I feel special. :-( Not that I wanted anything to happen. I really didn't and I still don't. But I'm starting to not so much crush on the guy but actually like him which pretty much spells disaster for me.
Well, I don't think I'm doing any better at trying to gather personal thoughts in writing than I was in doing actual work. That last sentence itself took three tries to get right. I feel drunk, but it's the damn medication.
Something different:
The department coordinator found a site for job offerings for students:
DC: Hey, it says here that this woman is looking for smart, pretty women who are well-versed in world affairs and politics to accompany high-level executives and CEO's to business lunches and dinners. (to me, joking) Are you interested?
Me: In being a prostitute? No thanks.
DC: It says here she pays $40 an hour.
Me: (reconsidering)
I'm kind of tired of being poor. But those poor bastards would be in trouble if they tried to hire me. I have a tendency to speak my mind when pissed off and something tells me a room full of stuffy old white rich men would piss the hell out of me.
I should really not journal when I'm chemically altered.
