Your Insanity Will Prevail

Nous étions tous en voyage quand un brouillard s'approche,
C'est la forêt des regrets amers, des doutes sans rémission.

Anybody the least bit curious about my state of mind will receive an answer now, as I announce that over the next four days the shortest shift I'll be working is eleven hours long. Friday and Monday are noon to eleven gigs; this isn't bad because of the sheer amount of them I've been working lately. No, the insanity belongs solely to my weekend schedule. Believe me when I say that Saturday and Sunday are going to my clerking days' magnum opii. Eight to eleven both days. Fifteen. Hours. Of. Pure. Agonizing. Torture. Times. Two. Now, I realize that this isn't exactly legal; however, I have an entire flock(?) of screaming, rabid, and oversexed hyenas a.k.a. expenses writhing around on my back. Combined with my boss' propensity for falling on sharp objects and his lax attitude concerning the hiring of someone new, we couldn't give less of a shit. Boss gets to sleep, I get more money. Sure, the customers will have to deal with a twitching-bloodshot-eyed-foaming-at-the-mouth-butcher-knife-waving maniac come the later hours of the day, but since when has our store ever been about them?

Stupid, fat expenseses! We wants to wrings their filthy little necks! Now that I've popped a few more of your brain cells with yet another unnecessary Gollum affectation, I might as well outline what they are. First off, I need another pair of glasses. I'm not going to tell you how long I've had my current pair because it's very, very sad. Secondly, six months insurance at the end of July. Third, car payments! And lastly, it would behoove me to pay off the remaining debt on The Stolen Laptop so I can get transcripts from SAIT.

Moment of Zen:

One fine Friday many years ago, after my final class of the day, I decided I'd take a stroll down to the campus arcade. This was partly because I didn't feel like going back to residence to be harassed by my overzealous RAs. Nor did I feel like reading more rap lyrics written by my psychotic roommate that would always be posted on our door; most of them detailing how he was going to kill me and rip out my 'nosebone'. But mostly, it was because I wanted to make sure nobody had yet topped my insane high score for Metal Slug. When I arrived at the Macewan Student Centre I saw one of the most pathetic sights that I've ever seen. Loitering around the front entrance were three fifteen-year-old Whiteboyz smoking cigarettes. Whenever a girl would enter or leave invariably a stream of catcalls from these three would follow after them. Any girl unlucky to get away fast enough would subjected to one of the boyz attempts to be suave. Since nothing about me is considered sexy to fifteen-year-old boys (or anybody else, for that matter) I entered the centre being subjected only to scowls. Does this happen anywhere else? Or was it due to the 'cone of ignorance' I seem to enact on my surroundings?