(no subject)

Huh. There's a volunteer orientation for the library-what-is-right-across-the-street-from-work this Saturday. I distinctly recall saying, perhaps even here, that I meant to get going with volunteer hours, just not at the library because that's a place Mom suggested. But Mom and youngest sister are doing their volunteer hours at library-what-is-on-the-highway, about halfway between home and work. This is not the same library, and Mom specifically named library-what-is-on-the-highway when she made that suggestion.

I should go to the volunteer orientation Saturday, shouldn't I?

complaint department, how may I direct your call

My hands hurt.

My head hurts.

"Effeminate" as a derogatory term. This came up lots in what I was reading over lunch. And while I realize it was the nastiest insult the ancient Greeks had, and historical context and all that...the worst way to insult a guy is still to call him girly. Same goes for the worst way to insult a girl, actually. Like, seriously, that was thousands of years ago, have we not moved past this.

I found a gorgeous song last night and I am not allowed to buy it. I have not set an end date on the prohibition on buying it (or any other music, books, or art supplies--we're excluding my shopping trip today for Reasons), either, because realistically that end date is the day I am out of debt.

My hands hurt.

Being pissed off at this jackass grants them power over me that I would prefer they not have, and yet I cannot seem to calm down.

The world is failing to arrange itself in accordance with my desires.

I am failing to work hard enough to achieve my desires.

I don't even know what my desires are.

My hands really fucking hurt.

(I ought to ten-good-things now...)