I don't even know what the hell I'm talking about. The point is, it's my third day and I absolutely despise it. I was basically on the verge of A) tears B) a panic attack or C) a full-scale nervous breakdown the whole time I was there today. I suppose I should suck it up and grow up- as my mom said, this temporary job is only a "means to an end". But I know there are other places hiring around town, and I'll bet if I went groveling back to the grocery store they'd even take me back. My trouble is I've always been way too sensitive for my own good- I'm the definitive example of a "shrinking violet". I just haven't wanted to go back to the grocery store because that would be a sign of public failure. They had to be all nosy and ask why I had to leave when I did. All the regular customers were the same way. I had to say something. I couldn't say that no, I'm not going to school this semester because being cooped up here all summer and dealing with you morons has made me insane! Small store though, I guess... I should accept the brand of failure and humiliation and go back there. It may be better than the stress of Sears.

It's not that I can't handle stress. In fact, throughout my college career I thrived on the last minute exhilaration of staying up all night and finishing a paper at 7am, only to rush around getting ready for a full day of classes, beginning at 8:30. See that was good stress, because it was a "means to an end" that had meaning for me- a degree, an education, blah blah blah. But the thought of learning this entire computer-operated register system only to leave in three months, well, does not compute.

Surely I should quit, if I'm going to, while I'm still training, so I don't start to mess with the schedules of others. Right?

God I'm pathetic. The month and a half I spent sitting on my ass, mired down in misery and self-pity, can't have been good. Perhaps I should become a mango-farming hermit on Tahiti now. Or I should just take my flute and set up residence in a nice dumpster in the nearest large city. I should accept that all I'll end up doing with my life is to be a flute-playing bum on a street corner.

*sigh*

I'm so sorry to go on and on like this. I just like to think of this diary as a place to vent my frustrations? misery? pain? in relation to my silly little life. I need happy thoughts. Or pie. Or a hug. I wish either that my friends weren't so far away, period, or that I could magically become less boring so they'd have a good enough reason to come see me.

Well now I'm off to go away and hide. :(

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