I Could Have Missed My Calling

So you're cold, bitchy, concerned about your (lack of) workload, desperate for a raise, can't drive your car, and have no idea what your (supposed) man was doing all weekend.
No, wait - that's me.
Let's celebrate civil rights!
I managed to not shower yesterday which was actually pretty sweet, considering that I went to the toy store, and by toy, don't MAKE ME explain that. It's conveniently located across the street from my house and I conveniently didn't spend any money on entertainment this weekend so I had all this fun times dough that I thought I'd spend on a little good times for me.
Unfortunately, my inability to hold down a debit card for more than an hour put the damper on my plan for private joys. The porn store don't take no personal checks.
Why you asshats?
I live across the damn street from you - the least you could do is honor my personal check. So I put my items on hold until today.
Luckily, it's MLK day and the bank is closed so I can't cash a check. Which was my plan when I put the goddamn shit on hold.
So now, when I finally dop get around to cashing a check, that Vivid Girl shirt in an M will be gone and all that was left was the XL and so if I were to get the shirt, I would look like a tool for wearing a Vivid entertainment shirt in baby pink that actually fits with room to spare.
Fuck, can I get a fucking break here?
I'm over here and I NEED a BREAK.
Most preferably in a room with quiet musical choices, like Gentle Waves or Canyon Breeze, that are available at the switch of a button. I need one Plexiglass window that looks out into some pretty gardens and where I can see other robed-residents sitting and working on orygami as the sunlight filters through the trees and dapples their faces.
Then I want to switch off the Gentle Waves, switch off the non-breakable, child-proofed lamp and lie down on my single bed that has a Downey-smelling yellow quilt from my childhood and I want to take a nap in the sun that comes through the non-breakable window.
Why can't I just get fucking committed at a nice place?
I would be such an easy wife to the right medical professional. Dope me up and ship me off and let me drift wherever it is that I need to drift and not have to write checks, deal with the Un-named Evil, ride my bike, and fight to get credit when someone else tries to take credit for the work that I did.
I mean my work was really good - her rip-off was really skanky.

I want to see my Hopefully Honey and tell him all about my plans for him RIGHT NOW and if he's down with that, I can re-visit the whole institution thing with kind of an eye toward not doing it.

Maybe I missed my calling and I should have married God and become a nun. Only a few people recognize that this is actually something that would make me exquisitly happy. Lots of people can't get around the Catholic part of it. But my goodness - how beautiful a life would it be if your job was to live quietly with the Sisters and study and pray and THAT'S IT. You get to study God in the garden and in any of the Chapels and Convents are such sancutaries. I just remember the one that was near to many of the houses that I lived in in Springfield. It was so, so pretty there. And the feeling that came over you when you went inside, or on the property was so calming. I'm sure that most people feel this when they are in a religious place, or in a place where there are real practitioners of spirituality.
I felt that at Sacred Heart, I really did.
And I do sort of wonder sometimes if maybe I was supposed to be doing something with God instead of with insurance.

arizonasarah at 1:08 p.m.

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