No Title Given
Only 3 more days until my 17th birthday.
I stayed home from work today. I was sick. My stomach was bothering me. Bad. But it always does, I have IBS. I had my mother call in, and though it took a lot of "this is your responsibility"'s and what not, she finally did. But I was not trying to avoid it. I just know for a fact that if I call in, a stereotypically assumed "lazy teen" by many-a-manager there, I would no doubt be suspended by saying I couldn't because I was sick. But if my mother, who is a higher power than me, and who also probably wouldn't lie for me, calls in it may be taken as fact, and they will just accept it. To sweeten the deal, when my mother went in Food Lion later to pick up some things, she stopped to talk to a manager, Amiee in fact, and explained to her my whole IBS thing. Yeah. She was told.
I loved just being home on a Sunday. I requested Sunday off when I first started working, and I'll be damned if she didn't put all of my hours on Sunday. On Saturday she has be working things like 5 to 10 PM, but on Sunday, it's 2:45 to 9:30, and what not. Just enough time to get up, eat, clean up, and come to work. Damn bitch.
Me and Alan had one of those "break threws" on Saturday, or whatever. That morning he said he was going to help a friend at his job, but he would be back at 12. I sat here until 3:45 waiting, and then I had to leave to get ready for work. I hate that. I hate waiting. I can't stand it. And when I finally signed on after work, I was not pleased. And he had a lot of "I'm sorry"'s. Like he always does with those kinds of situations.
I said a lot of things Saturday that I don't really think I've said, not even too much to myself. And everything that ever comes out of my mouth I have thought about before. I just have a huge library in my mind of pointless shit to say. But everything was different. Which means I spent a lot of time being "quiet" while I tried to form it into an understandable sentence. It all worked out well, I guess.