2001-04-17 :: 1:41 p.m.
I so clearly need a second job, but I am flat out refusing to agree with myself. I am flat out disobeying my own fucking orders.
How schizophrenic is that? I don't want to give up my weekends and like a bratty little baby, I'm going kicking and screaming, tempter-tantrum out of control refusing.
I don't think I'd care about a weekend job if I had a steady boyfriend. But I feel like if I get a second job now, I'll be missing out on all the fun I'm having.
I realize how that might make me sound. But at least I know what my problem is. I have identified it. Point-blank. And nothing feels so exactly good than this, to be sure about what's within, however idiotic.
Fund-Depletion away, Sundaygirl.