Monday, monday.

Well, it's Monday. The rest of the work-a-day world has gone off to the rat race, while I, lowly nurse, have already spent my time "on the inside" and now I sit... uh... inside the house, wondering why I have to be broke and still in debt.

It was a nasty feeling to realize last night, "Hey! All I have is a pizza and mac 'n cheese to eat until I get paid on Friday." And then realize, "Hey! At least pizza is like, five meals worth of food!"

Then I found out I didn't care for the pizza I had bought at Trader Joe's, and remembered I had Trader Joe naan bread in the freezer, but that was like eating pizza without the sauce, so I just went to bed.

Any way. I've become quite regimented in my third decade of life. Well, kind of. Not really. What I mean to say by that bit of tish-tosh is that I automatically wake up on my day off and robotically scrub the house and do laundry. Perhaps this is occurring now because I'm not suicidally depressed about my working conditions, and thus can actually manage to do more with my sorry ass life than actively plot my imminent, tragic demise by my own hand. Or else I'm just too poor to do anything else, but hey, I've got cleaning products!

Whatever the impetus, the house is cleaner as a result, and we're all happy about that.

Otherwise, I'm kind of in a weird social limbo right now. Work is a friendly place to be, but it takes me a while to meet good friends. And I'm kind of shy, when you get right down to it. Yeah, I'll gibber on and on and on here, in the privately public/ publically private internet sphere of blog, but that's different than actually wanting to leave the comfort of my home and do something.

I'm a Cancer, you see. No one's going to pull me out my shell without a good fight! (Likewise, I have the bad habit of hanging on to stuff until it's the equivalent of a vented vegetable no one wants to pull the plug on, for fear of engendering bad otherworldly vibes. I have a stuffed animal that is nearly thirty years old, for example. This is what I consider a Priceless Heirloom Possession and others call a useless piece of old shit. If, however, I had the choice between saving a $10,000 diamond ring and ragged old Puppy Love from a burning building--well, I suppose I can scavange through the rubble later for the ring. I laugh to think my kids are going to inherit old shitty stuffed animals, books every one else has scanned into their electronic library, and old-fashioned moth-ridden, half finished knitting projects. No doubt this will drive my future kids nutty, especially when they realize I've left all my money to a trust fund for the dog.)

I'm so going to end up abandoned in a nursing home when I'm old.