My feet hurt. My work boots are shot. But I'm forced to cope because I'm broke.
Sad face.
My supervisor, who was supposed to be leaving this week (which made me super giddy), has been convinced to stay til the end of November. god's such a hater. It's like my supervisor's supervisor said, "Hrm. I want to do something evil today. Should I kill a kitten? Where the hell would I get a kitten at 3:30 in the morning? Hey wait! I can talk Troy into staying and Punky will be as disappointed as a needy 3 year old on Christmas. Hey Troy. . ". Douche bags. All of them.
I cut my finger on a staple today. Took a very nice chunk out of the tip of my thumb. I guess the adhesive stip on the bags aren't good enough for some people they have to staple a fucking bag closed.
Now for a rant. The English language makes no sense. I didn't cut my finger. The staple cut my finger. It's not like I picked up the staple and said "Hey, ya know what will be fun? If I rip a chunk of my defenseless finger." The staple is a bastard piece of machinary. And the English language is retarded.
I'm done.
