So…Danielle here.
Let’s admit it. I’ve been lax this summer. There have been no blogs. No blogs at all.
But, come on…lawn mowers don’t sell themselves (I, in fact, don’t do so well selling them either. That’s a thing lawn mowers and I have in common, apparently.)
But, I’m bored.
And I’m out of things to do again. Out of all the things. And now I have…let’s see…four and a half hours to kill. AND NOTHING TO KILL THEM WITH. I’ve worn out the sword that was busy work. I have done all the busy work. I am no longer busy.
This is TERRIBLE.
Four more days of work, people. 32 more hours (well, 36.5 hours if you count the rest of today.). 2,190 more minutes to kill.
DIE, MINUTES DIE!
Well, I suppose I could go ask my supervisor if she has anything else for me to do…
Nah. I’ll probably just take some old invoices and make more paper airplanes. I’ve gotten rather good at paper airplanes this summer.
In fact, my paper airplanes are bitchin.
So, be jealous. I’ve wasted my whole summer and only got a lot of money and bitchin paper airplanes out of it.
So, moving on to some unfortunate tidings.
I’ve had to decommission Fort Danielle.
It was a sad day. Hot warehouse boy named Ethan went back to Illinois to be with his fiancée (she’s ugly. I bet she’s ugly).
See, Hot warehouse boy named Ethan was really the whole reason Fort Danielle came to exist. See, I saw hot warehouse boy named Ethan and hid in the top part of the warehouse to watch him and his sexy, sexy self. As the days passed, I created a fort with boxes, broken file cainets and an unused go-kart. It had a chair and a box for foot-resting and a peep hole for Ethan-stalking.
It was a dream. A beautiful, impossible dream.
Ethan thought my name was Jennifer. Seriously. Like, the first day we met he waved and said "See you tomorrow, Jennifer!" I was so amazed that he acknowledged me that I kinda didn't bother correcting him on the whole my-name-is-Danielle-not-
Jennifer bit.
And they say it's not good manners to correct your future husband anyway. So, it kinda spiraled out of control from there. I would go out of my way to keep people from addressing me as Danielle (you know, my name) in front of hot warehouse boy Ethan.
It got real complicated real fast.
I would have changed my name to Jennifer if we got married. Seriously. And I don't even like that name.
Anyway. Ethan's gone now, back in Illinois with his one-eyed, acne-faced finacee. So I no longer have to fear my name. I was thinking about pulling a Voldemort. Going by an intimidating moniker. She-who-should-not-be-poked or something. I dunno.
God, I'm tired. This job requires like an hour of driving to get to and the day starts at 8 for me, so I have to wake up at 6. It's like high school. Only with lawn mowers.
I fell asleep at my desk the other day. I mean, I doze sometimes, but this was hardcore sleeping. I was out. I may have snored. I don't know. I did drool. I know because the expense reports I was supposed to be filing were sticking to my face.
Anyway, my least favorite office mate walked by my office. I sprang up from the desk and shouted "I HAVE A HEADACHE!" in my best project-around-the-whole-
auditorium voice from high school.
My whole office was actuely, painfully aware that I, Danielle L Renckly, had a headache, dammit. I was not going to stand for this. I was going to shout about it and make sure eveyone else had a headache too.
Thing is, I didn't have a headache. My head felt fine. My head was awesome. I have no idea why my subconcious mind thought the best thing to shout at that particular moment was "I have a headache!"
It's okay if you don't understand. I don't and neither did the rest of my office. For the rest of the day, they all treated me like a bomb that might shout mean words at them if they looked at me funny. They don't seem to realize I'm like that all of the time.
Anyway, I should. This blog has sucessfully managed to gobble a half hour of my life.
36 left.
...I could write 72 more blogs...
No.
No.
Be strong.
Okay.
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