good intentions

I was planning on writing this past Sunday. I had it all in my head of the picture I would post, the things I would say… How I would apologize for not writing sooner. How it seems as though Sundays are the days that I would end up blogging. And then Sunday came and went, and I got nothing done.

I would like to blame it on work, because it’s been consuming my whole being. Every moment I seem to be thinking about it, worrying about it, wondering how it’s going to turn out. We’ll be closed by the end of this month. But, Jamie has said that there is still some bookkeeping that needs to be done, so I would be able to work from home after the store has closed to finish it. So it’s hard to believe that it’s actually close to being over, when every morning I groan and roll out of bed, get dressed, and drive to work. I’m thankful we’re only open until three o’clock, because I don’t think I could possibly make it any longer. I have never worked so hard at that place in my five years of being employed there. The people are shameless and obnoxious. You see this poor girl, purple bags under her eyes and looking like she’s ready to fall over on her feet behind the counter, and you know that she’s out of job, and yet – you try to get the lowest price anyway. Why not, right? They’re going out of business, so they should sell it to me for whatever I want just so they can get the money. They’re desperate, aren’t they? I’m so sick of the heartlessness and the complete rudeness of these people. It’s hard to comprehend how they go to sleep at night not ridden with guilt.

In better news, I am almost finished with “New Moon” by Stephenie Meyer. I’m excited, because it’s just so damn good, but I’m also quite saddened by the fact that it doesn’t look like I’ll be able to afford the next book just yet. It’s been a while since I’ve been able to devour hundreds of pages in days like it was my life source. It makes me want to read Hamilton’s new book more than ever now. I’m debating re-reading the Anita Blake series over again just to pass some time. We’ll see.

Last night I attempted something I have never tried before but always wanted to. Simon assured me that it was foolproof and that I should check it out, because it’s not very hard. Last night, I stripped down to my skivvies and Simon sprayed airbrush tan on my legs. I was desperate for anything to make my legs look something other than a dead fish belly. It said it would take a few hours to show up, but I was sleepy and ended up passing out before we could really see the results. I was amazed at how soft it made my legs at least. I woke up this morning, rolled out of bed to grab my bathrobe and the can of tanner, and drudged up the stairs to the shower. I figured I would do it one more time after I got out of the shower to make them a bit darker. When I turned on the light in the bathroom, however, I scowled at my legs. Stripes! I look like a fucking zebra. I showered, scrubbing at my skin – hoping to get some of the orange stuff off me, but no luck. I decided I would try to spray the lighter spots to maybe make the darker ones look a little less drastic. I went out into the kitchen where my mother was making coffee. “LOOK AT MY LEGS,” I told her. She looked, and shrugged. She said you couldn’t see anything. “Well, there’s this…” She poked at a spot on my calf. I hopped away. “Don’t touch it! It’s still wet. And that’s a bruise.”

After a few minutes of arguing with her that my legs were a stripy mess, I dragged her into the bathroom light to look. I was convinced she’d be able to see what I was talking about. But, as soon as she scrutinized my skin again, she shrugged. She told me that I was just being paranoid because it was my skin. But she just thinks they look like shadows. Shadows! Ha!

I’ll have to see if the emergency spray I did this morning fixed it at least a little bit. But, to be on the safe side… I’m wearing pants.