I had a bad day at work, and there's no one to talk to about it. Tim's out with Scott getting a rootbeer keg, Caitlyn's not online, and really, I don't feel like bursting into tears as I speak aloud about it.

First of all, it was LONG. I had to be up at 6:45 in order to unlock Case Hall. Then I went into work at 8. And I didn't get off until 630. Yes, that is 10.5 hours of work. Granted, an hour of a half of that was lunch, but that was before the day got shitty, and I get paid for that. So it counts in the total.

Second of all, I feel like a second class supervisor. They seem to resent me for going home last week. Well, you know? I resent being here this week. I wouldn't mind staying late if everyone was working together -- but half of the time I stayed late, they were TALKING about parking, and I was hauling heavy boxes I was sure were going to give me a hernia.

What's wrong with a little appreciation? I stayed late. Suzette did not thank me, none of my fellow supervisors thanked me. Note to self: always thank someone who stays late. Especially if they could have snuck away like I could have.

Sunday: I realize I do and don't belong here. Take a walk and wander London a bit. Decide that Truman Application and NaNo planning must get done.
Monday: Fight with Tim. I need to talk to him still. Decide that thinking about the Truman Application and NaNo is a bad idea right then.
Tuesday: My lunch leaks on me as I'm sitting on the Underground. Now I smell like vinegar. As a cherry on the top of the Sunday, a new review on that fucking article on Fleen about fucking Girly. This one accusing me of vilifying the author IN ADVANCE of him making money off of porn. Yes, of course. Because clearly I hate porn.

Please don't let today get any worse.