Complaining because I can

On Saturday, being the genius that I am, I threw a piece of scalding hot pizza into my mouth while on lunch at work because it was burning my fingers.  Naturally, the suitable alternative was in my mouth, and since I was still around customers I couldn't spit it back into my hand without tarnishing the sanctity of the store.  It was a little bit hot.  Amidst my pooling tears I ate the slice of pizza I bought for myself anyways because even though its brethren pained me so, I was hungry.  The pizza wasn't good because I don't think the pizza my store makes isn't very good, and the fact that as I ate I also ate peeling skin from the roof of my mouth as well as blood, it wasn't a pleasant experience.  It's still not healed at all, so eating is an absolute task.

Regardless, I ate popcorn on Saturday night - recall, genius - and it was like eating barbed wire.

A few hours ago I accompanied my mom on errands, including a stop for a prescription as well as comfortable insoles for my very uncomfortable work shoes.  Because we could, we asked the pharmacist if anything could be bought to soothe the bad burns I have on the roof of my mouth, and he said, "don't eat hot food anymore."  Snark aside, he suggested I put margarine on the burns, so as an idiot I stood in my kitchen stuffing margarine into my mouth as my mom yelled at me for being feral.

I have very uncomfortable work shoes.  I don't understand it considering they're as big as you can get, but lord by the end of my work shifts my feet are crying out to me.

I'm appreciative for the amount of hours I've gotten at work, but I'm working on my birthday this Friday.  Complain, complain.  To be honest, I would be doing nothing during the day, so at least I know I'll be early something like eighty bucks to blow the next night anyways.  In addition to working on Friday I look ahead to a wall of doom; that is, eight hour shifts from Thursday until Sunday, and while again I'm smiling at the growth of my bank account, I'm frowning at the obstacle before me.

Also I work on Sunday and I'm planning to get obscenely drunk on Saturday night because you only turn twenty-one once.  Oh and also YOLO.  But Sunday is going to suck.

I love this time of year when show finales are happening, like tonight's Smash which was decent or last night's Once Upon a Time which was euphoric, but I'm upset thinking about the upcoming summer without television to watch, save for my Sunday night fix of obscenities and gratuitously unnecessary sex that HBO offers me in the remainder of Game of Thrones and the return of True Blood.

I just tried eating because I'm really hungry, but the bloody burns on the roof of my mouth are still raging on.  The internet has told me not to eat chips, but my mom bought me salt and vinegar Pringles today, and there's nothing I want more than salt and vinegar Pringles.  Instead I just ate bread, but even that goddamn bread was sharp.  Another live update, I just put more margarine on the burns, but it devolved into me eating a lot of margarine for the sake of it.  Not even food can make me happy in this very moment.

raaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaage