They’re back. On Saturday, I ignored the little sign that said, “Ask about our treat receipts!”, because oh, good Lord, I could see that going badly
again. It would make terrible fiscal sense. I ignored it.
This morning, however, they didn’t even ask. I just got a receipt. And then I went to work. For eight hours. In music. Which I have worked in one day. In November of 2007. And by the time some woman yelled at me because Michael Jackson never released a CD that contained the four specific songs she wanted on the SAME DISC which CLEARLY is MY FAULT, I really, really wanted that $2 grande.
Now. I always feel like I’m tempting fate, but this summer is going (slightly) better than last summer. No one’s died yet. I’m desperately waiting for it to be over, and I had a slight nervous breakdown while taking a walk this afternoon but did stop myself from stalking Tenant Family. But still! Everybody’s alive! So maybe I won’t need quite as many $2 grandes.
However. There was the simple matter of that teensy breakdown. And I’m kind of a strung-out mess about school and the future and HOLY FRICK THOSE DAMN GRES.
So. Yeah. It could be pretty bad.