It's Like I'm Not Even Myself

If I could find a way to bottle up and save the way I feel when I'm singing at the bar for whenever I feel like I do right now, I'd be a whole lot happier. And I'd be rich 'cause I'd sell that shit on the black market and make millions.

The last few days have been interesting...ok, maybe not to you, but they have been for me. Out of 30ish people, I was the only one who got hurt bowling on Thursday (happens everytime...freaky thumbnail injury...stupid, really), I had my annual review at work on Friday and got a raise with a promise from my boss that she'd go to bat for me with the regional manager for a more substantial pay scale increase and title change, I tried Cold Stone ice cream yesterday (coffee and cake batter ice cream with carmel and marshmellow swirled in...tasty!) and then took a three hour nap on the couch before heading down to the bar and finally, some random guy named Jay approached me while I was waiting for the bus to go home, told me I looked sad and asked if someone had said or done something to me to make me upset... when I said I was fine, he said he hoped so because I'm too pretty for anyone to treat me bad. Guh. I can't even explain how happy I was to get home, close my door and crawl into bed last night.

It's shower time.