I really, really want to write about the Chiodos show. I do. But every time I try, I get all emotional and hormonal and feel inspired to do nothing more than weep on a mound of studded belts, razorblades and post-hardcore albums. I am hoping that the veil of post-show depression will have been pierced by this weekend and I can resume that thing called “being an adult” and begin to properly nourish myself and spell correctly once again. Seriously, my brain is tramping around on some other planet lately and it’s starting to scare me.
In work-related news, my new job is pretty fucking cool. It’s so laid-back there and it’s really nice to be working in an office again. And no one here wears Crocs and country Jamboree shirts, which is A-plus. I will write more about my co-workers soon, but so far they are all normal, funny, and super easy to talk to. The best part is that they fill me in on gossip so I’m not sitting there like the lame new girl, wishing to be included.
We’re going to Target now, where I will buy myself a new pair of Converse as a hearty pat on the back for keeping a new job for a week without quitting.