Well, guys. I'm going crazy. About a week (or so) ago, I had a pseudo anxiety attack at work. Then went to Morehead/Richmond and helped some friends move. Then, Friday (when I was supopsed to go back to work after a 3 night break), I had another. I called in and slept from 11pm til 6:30pm the next day (with a short 30 min. pot pie break). It was kind of hard for me to go from Richmond, where now ALL of my friends are, to here, where I live with my dysfunctional family (I'm not talking immediate family here,guys. My grandmother lives across the driveway, my aunt on the other side, and my other aunt about 10 miles away. And not a damn one of them get along with anyone, yet they're forced to be in one another's prescence constantly.) It seems my insomnia has increased ten-fold as well. All I can do is sleep 2 hours a night, wake up, then lie around for another 5 - 6 hours TRYING to go back to sleep. Mom's gone right now to get me some tylenol pm or something. I had some around the house. The ease at which she got up out of bed to go get me some tells me one thing: someone in the house is responsible for it's demise. I'm almost always on the verge of tears. I'm snappy and cynical and hate my job. The girls on the other shifts leave more work for 3rd than ever before, and the badmouthing about 3rd has increased correlatively. Actually, speaking of which, someone fucking took some nehi from the bottom of a 6 case tier of soda last night and I didn't notice. So, while I was forraging behind them for soda, the whole goddamned stack fell on my shoulder and I tweaked my wrist trying to hold it up one=handedly. I just fucking mopped up the stewart's that broke and said fuck the milk. I know they'll have complaints because I did nothing more (just stacked the cases again), but fuck 'em. They leave their work for US 75% of the time (and that's being generous). Anyway, the customers seem to make me more and more uncomfortable and I don't feel as safe as I once did. There's this one stoner guy that works at the Trade Center (aka, Flea Market). This seems familiar, maybe I already mentioned it. Oh, well. One night,he came in really stoned and asked me if I had cut my hair and, since I was on my way to take a sit down break outside, invaded my bubble and mussed the back of my hair. Ok. I have a HUGE personal bubble. And he smashed it all to shit and back. Anyway, last night he came in looking for snuff (in typical redneck fashion) and proceeded to make me feel uncomfortable by asking my name while my co-worker went to look for his elusive Kodiak snuff. Now, this guy is a regular. The creepiest regular I had to deal with last summer was this balding, middle aged red-haired guy that asked if I ahd a tattoo. A lot of people I know have bank jobs, eventhough I'm the one certified by the Kentucky Bankers' Association. They fucking run a credit check to get employed at a bank. WTF? You have to be in good standing credit-wise to even get a fucking job anymore? I'm completely fucked. Ever felt like everyone else is so much better than you in infinite ways? *sighs* I smell like old onions, which smells like body odor. Lovely. I hate this place.
