Today I woke up in a black pit of despair.

However, this is a bit of a usual occurrence with me. Let me say here for the permanent record that I am not a morning person. When woken up by anything - alarm clock, meowing Ceilidh, happy conversation in the next room or the Boy - blasphemies pour from my mouth in an evil flood. Then I flail around for 5 to 10 minutes with my eyes closed, trying to figure out if it's bad enough to call in sick. When I was in university, it was a much easier decision: if I felt like shit, I didn't go to class. This, combined with late start times (10 a.m. class was the earliest session for my last 3 years) and free time for naps in the afternoon made me a reasonably content little bumble bee. I didn't need those SPAMs to tell me I could throw away my alarm clocks -- I was living the life, baby!

Now, of course, I am not. I have to get up every morning. (And I don't live across from a goth bar & next to a gas station, either.)

I'm beginning to think that I may have a medical problem. After the blood cuff yesterday, the nurse informed me that I have low blood pressure. And then there's the fact that the Red Cross wouldn't take my blood last year because of low iron count...and the Red Cross will take anyone's blood, as long as they're not a homosexual male. I'm wondering if I should get this checked out...I mean, they'll prolly prescribe iron supplements & exercise, but it'd be nice to have something on which to blame my constant fatigue.

"Hear that bird calling 'bout the break of day
Catch the bird, Lord, I swear I'm gonna make him pay,
Cause she's tired all the time, Lord, she's tired all the time..."

- big sugar

And my morning wasn't improved by the fact that I haven't done laundry in a month, and thus have been wearing the same pair of tights for three days running. Or that I can't find my watch. Or that I don't have any cash, and feel reluctant to touch money after the hair incident. This limits my behavior options considerably. Oh, and my back pack self-destructed right before Fireball, causing me to live out of a shopping bag. Yes, you heard me. I'm walking the streets of Canada with my earthly possessions in a Le Chateau bag (or as one of my brother's friends cleverly terms it, Le Slut-eau).

Pray for me.

Yeah. So anyway, I was in a black pit of despair this morning. It was so bad that I was talking in a squeaky little girl voice to my dad, just so I wouldn't have to explain why I felt so rotten (he's not terribly good at empathizing with the more delicate shades of emotions between anger and sadness). I tried to eat a nearly rotten pear for breakfast, with predictable results. That's just a detail, the point is: despair. Deep deep despair. So on the way to work, I dolefully girded up my spirit to meet the wonderful world of the office.

Was I ever surprised when I got in. The first thing I saw was one of my co-workers, who teased me before opening the door. The second person I saw immediately wanted to know why I had been gone yesterday. It made me happy. It still makes me happy. Stupid old despair, go away. I don't want you anymore. (I'll give you a call when I break out the black lipstick, though. Now shoo.)

I think this is it for today. If I'm to upload tonight, I should stop writing now. Ah, the bitter taste of sense. Yuck.