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2004-09-22 - 6:57 p.m.


I have 9 minutes before class starts. My eyes hurt; they're probably unused to being bombarded with exhaust from every beater on the streets of Philadelphia. I've been out of the office for the last two days, receiving training that'll add yet another new task to my job description for which I'll see no new fucking money. Yay. On the way from the train to the office, I managed to get stuck waiting for the light as the stench of exhaust, vomit, coolant, and piss warred to see who'd make me puke first. I usually have a stronger stomach, but the whole two meals a day thing is making me pretty shaky. I think I'm going to bag that plan, as I find myself eating giant sides of beef and whole raw potatoes for lunch.


I think my OBJ, my roommate, is trying to kill me. I came home yesterday and the gas stove was on. She'd left it on all day, and as I thought about my penchant for candles I wondered if she was trying to blow me up. I called The Honey for backup, but he said because there was a flame, there was no danger of blowing up as long as there was a flame. When she came home, I decided to tell her about the stove, so she'd be more careful in the future.

"Hey, the stove was on when I came home today," I said.

"Whoops. Must've left it on this morning."

I nodded my head.

"Well you left the toilet running over the weekend. You've got to be careful with that."

Right then. Leaving the toilet running has the possibly same life altering consequences as leaving the fucking gas running. In what fucking universe? Rather that new mid-life crisis nose ring, OBJ should've gotten "I'm an insecure bitch who makes it everyone else's problem" tatooed on her forehead.


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