Infuriation

It's hard to write about what you did for the day when you pretty much slept, went to work all day, and come home. Except, a few things happened in between. For instace, there is a trace of a biological clock being created. I'm waking up at around 730 or so even when I don't have to. But, me being the paranoid worrywart that I am, I awake with my heart pounding through my chest thinking that I'm going to be late for work. My adventure with O G Kev truly tramatized me.

On the bus ride to work, I think of one thing. My friends. I'm almost constatly reminded of them. I'm always craing some of Courtney's, the cooking goddess, food and also Vinh's spaghetti. I almost constantly wear the jacket my dear friend Kelsey made for me, which bears my favorite number, 86, on it. My favorite band (I think...there are so many of them) U2, reminds me of Kim and Jesse, who, to me, are the definition of love. Texting any long conversation with anyone somewhat reminds me of consoling my friend Laura, whom I love dearly. And sometimes I can catch the scent of incense that oddly smells of my friend Amber's house. Ect... But these small reminders of home are comforting, but tie me down somewhat. They anchor me to who I was before this journey and are somewhat of a definition of who I used to be. I almost relied my happiness on friends. I surrounded myself with them constantly so that I wouldn't have to confront the daily problems and wants in my own life. I want so desperatlely to be a part of other's lives that sometimes I sacifice my own. But I don't want to completely forget about them. So I have decided that they are a mobile anchor. Something I can carry with me, that doesn't hinder me but helps and supports me; they give me the oppertunity to stop and slow down, when I choose. I love them all.

Work was fine...Until the end. At the beginning of my shift I go up to someone because, thanks to my expert training,I have no idea where I'm supposed to go or do. They tell me and even draw out on a map specifically where I need to go. Relieved, I go about my work, happy as a clam as I help guests go places and pin trade with all the Disney fanatics that will pounce on you if you're wearing a lanyard with Disney Pins on it. It's funny and a tad rediculous. So at the end of my shift, I finish my trash run in my area rather quickly. So, for about another half an hour, I wander around not knowing what to do since the Custodial trailer is locked and no one is around. Meanwhile, the walkie/radio/phone thingy they gave me, that they never taught me how to use, is beeping incessantly with alerts. What the hell is an alert and what do I do about it? These questions infuriate me to no end.

I finally figure out how to talk on the damn thing after another custodian calls me and asks me to do my trash run. I tell them I already have and they inform me that I need to do it again because some trash cans, clear on the other side of the park, are full. Apperantly I had been doing the wrong section the entire day. So not only do I have to do that trash run, but it hasn't been done all day. So they rush a few people to help me out, because God forbid we be like four minutes over on payroll. The managers come up to me and I inform them of the situation. After they talk to me, I feel kind of like a dumbass, that can't do a simple janitor's job. They told me that this was the second time (yesterdy there was a mix up with the bathrooms. they told me two restrooms I had to take care of and apperantly there were three others I was supposed to be doing as well) that I misread their information and it was important for me to get the right information. So, pretty sure they hate me now, I go home thoroughly bruised.

When I arrive home, I immediately make my mind's medicine...Ramen. I cook it the normal way and then I decide I need to do something with those eggs before the expire in a week. I attempt to hard-boil them with the assistance of my cooking guru Courtney. However, after following her instrutions (I think), I fail. The shells begin to crack so I assume their done. I take them out, and check one to see if it's edible. Apperantly, eggs are not incredible or edible, much to the contrary of their popular commercials. The yolk is a golden gel inside the perfectly fine egg whites. I put them in boiling water longer and check them. No dice, it's the same. Now I'm sure this wasn't Courtney's fault. How could a kid who can barely preform a janitor's duties, possibly follow instructions to boil an egg? In any case, obviously egg's and I were not meant to be on this trip together.

So I go almost instantly to bed. Infuriated...which is not good. For it is said that one should never go to bed angry. If only I had that choice.