Monday, April 11, 2005

I'm a work brusher.

Not only do a I have a toothbrush and toothpaste in my desk, but I probably brush my teeth more at work than I do at home. There's something seriously wrong with that. And I promised that I'd never become that person.

Well, I promised I'd never work in an office--but here I am, year five. I have a cubicle, a phone, personal momentos and a plant. I have a fricking plant on my desk. Like every other fricking cube monkey in the world. I'm that guy. It doesn't matter that I'm a chick--I'm that guy. I promised I'd never dress like a stiff. I promised I'd never wear sensible flats. Now most of my clothes are work clothes except for a few t-shirts left over from when I was actually a cool person (Buffy does live, m-ther f-ckers. The f-cking shirt says so) and the one stinking pair of jeans that I own that're two sizes two big but I won't replace because jeans cost so fricking much and I only get to wear them like one day a week which'll abruptly go to 0 days a week as soon as summer hits.

I have a makeup table with brushes and jewelery and all kinds of crazy chick stuff on it. I own pairs of loafers. My pretty little house looks just-so, and I'm about to start the garden. With frivilous flowers that I can't eat. I recently bought lawn ornaments and a *gulp* lawn gnome. I do grocery shopping weekly, I have a table cloth on my dining room table, and I have nicknacks on my toilet bowl. I go to the gym three times a week, and go grocery shopping every Saturday. What. The. Hell.

I've officially lost "unique snowflake" status (assuming it ever existed) and it makes me want to poke my own eyeballs out. I know poking my eyeballs out wouldn't help the situation in any way, but it would make me feel better, and hinder my ability to see the steriotypical shambles that my life has become. Le Sigh.

If this is who I didn't want to be, who DID I want to be? I don't know.

My life's boring and predictable, but it's good, too, I guess. I took a nap on my back porch yesterday. I take *REALLY FRICKING* expensive voice lessons on Saturdays (and have no real time to persue singing other than at church, thanks to work, but another gripe for another time). I have a nice laptop, I make pancakes and eggs on Sunday mornings, I live five minutes from work. My kitchen floor is clean, I finally have a box spring and frame for my mattress, a husband who loves me and is fun to be around, some really great smelling hand-cream and a library that'll order just about anything for me from anywhere in the state (they haven't realized that they're my bitches, yet), I live a few blocks away from my sibilings, we have a good relationship. I live a few blocks away from mom, and she never visits, my dad has evolved into a human being, I have a washer and dryer IN THE HOUSE. My carpets are squishy and warm, and everything in my bathroom matches.

...so why am I still upset?

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