The Cannon

If there is one place that is ideal for a hangover it has to be Booster Juice. Regardless of the fact that it is work, after a Brazilian Thunder with boggle and energy boosters, an acai berry shot and a matcha green tea shot, I discovered that I was feeling up to par once again.

After the headache, I got the chance to really sit back and observe my work environment; "post Jaris". This is what I call my job now that the previous Assistant Manager has come back to work. Thin, blonde, and clean...she drives me and every other employee fucking nuts. The two best fit words to describe "Paris" (as Renee calls her) are anal retentive.

I need to quit. It never feels like a good time, mostly due to rent..or groceries..or the Visa bill. This seems to be beside the point though, because there will never come a time where I am one hundred percent certain that it is the responsible/right decision. That is, unless I have another job lined up. Preferably FT.

Okay. That's enough of that. I now never want to post, nor talk about Booster Juice ever again outside of work.

Everything else appears to be going swimmingly. I've been sleeping a fair bit lately, possibly a result of being sick? I'm hoping so, because coming home and needing a nap can be frustrating, not to mention wearing. I'm never the same once up from a deep two-hour "cat nap".

I've fallen into somewhat of a routine lately, which hasn't necessarily become tedious yet. I've noticed that my complaints of friends, or lack thereof, are those of idiocy. Realizing that I actually have been invited out, been given numbers and opportunities. I suppose I just turn them down because one of two reasons. I am either A; fairly content in my current state, and don't find I need a friend or two to play catch-up with...or B; just fucking lazy. Despite which one, I guess I'll stop my fucking whine-fest since I could easily switch or change things around by lifting a finger, even.

Besides, I am still falling into that certain comfortable state, that I am hoping will eventually come, with Dave's friends. I don't expect amazing results, I don't want a best friend, but I'm sure it is slightly tiring that I can be so quiet. It's sort of unexplainable, that one. I suppose that when I feel the need to say something, I draw blanks. Kind of like writing an exam, I'm put under pressure. Sure, it's silly, stupid even. These people aren't fucking sixteen year-old girls, and they obviously aren't going to pass judgment too harshly. And if they do, so what? I dunno. I guess I just figure if I don't talk, then I can look back on a brief conversation and not have to shake my head at dumb things that have tumbled out of my mouth as a result of nerves.

I just have to chill the fuck out, I guess.