The Count

Well, now, let's keep a count, shall we?

First, I'm gonna have to tell you about my job. I work in this crab factory, doing random work, such as cleaning crates, storing stuff, and other jobs that I won't get into. (You don't want me to get into them, trust me.)

So, today, I was sanitizing the crates. But wouldn't you know it, the very first thing the boss told me was that there might be a bit too much cleaner in the water I was using. Didn't affect me before lunch, felt like hell after lunch.

That would be the third (this is the count) time in 10 working days where I come out feeling like a truck hit me. I've been to that shop for the last two summers (not counting this one), and I've never quite felt this ill this frequently. Needless to say, I'm not only getting sick of my job, I'm beginning to get sick from my job, too. Maybe it's the stress.

Yeah, with my job, thoughts of the hectic schedule of the upcoming college year, and other things, I've had the planet on my shoulders for a while.

Aaaand I just bit my tongue. Ow, ow, ow.

Maybe tomorrow, I'll get into the deeper stuff. I only feel like explaining one new thing today.

"Fine. I'll build my own space park. With blackjack. And hookers. In fact, forget the park!" -- Bender Bending Rodriguez unit 22, "Futurama"

No comments: