So, today pretty much sucked up the wazoo. Not really badly, but enough that after Spanish 3 (my first class of the day) I went up to Jaimi and told her that I wanted to run away and join the circus because my life would never amount to anything. She managed to soothe me to the point that I agreed to face Calculus, and after that, the day wasn't as bad as it could've been.
Although, I was at work and a man dropped off EIGHTY FIVE shirts. They were dress shirts and all of them were still packaged and buttoned. Uck. He dropped it off about 45 minutes before we closed, and we were still tagging them 20 minutes after closing. I wanted to kill myself.
To blow off steam, I started talking. Anyone who knows me knows that I could talk the eyeballs out of a blind fish (whatever the heck that's supposed to mean) when I get in the mood. I thought of all the things I'd like to do to this guy when he picked up his shirts.
And somewhere in there, I started singing. I'm pretty sure my co-worker thought I was certifiably crazy, but whatever. I starting singing about how much I hated the shirts, and she said I should write a musical.
"No," I said after some consideration. "And even if there WAS a musical about dry cleaning, I wouldn't be in it. It would be like asking a concentration camp survivor to be in a play about the Nazis. Welcome to Bad Ideaville, USA."
I'm not sure why that was so funny at the time, but a lot of unfunny things have been hysterical to me lately. It's a sure sign that I'm becoming unhinged.
The cast list is going to be posted mid-morning tomorrow. This may be the staple to my sanity. :D But no sweat, right?