Amnesia

I need to vent these three things:

1. My patchouli soap makes me smell like bootie. It seemed innocuous in the packaging but every morning I wander around hoping no one tries to determine the exact location of that faintly “unwashed” smell. And, I’m too cheap to throw it out.

2. At some point I accidently forgot that Every Single Guy (double meaning there) I know is a musician. Or refers to themselves as one, making the Performing Arts the single most over represented, and under appreciated career choice in this great state. Please, for the love of all that is decent and acceptable, stop pretending that your pipe dreams of being a rock star are in any way achievable (or even desired by anyone who has heard you play or sing anything, ever. ) and get a real job.

3. Someone that I work with appears to have amnesia, as well as the Master Key to the school house that the entire staff has been searching for, for roughly seven months. This someone also seems to forget that all of the Good Art Supplies went missing before I showed up to teach, and wants me to produce supplies that haven’t been in the Art Room for over three years. It amazes me on a daily basis, but today. Today it just irritated me. 

Now I tell you the reason for my venting: I set an alarm clock ambush for myself this morning, and then promptly forgot about it. That is until I had submarines, and Harry Potter and Johnnie Cochran all comin’ at me from different angles, and I spontaneously combusted in a nervous sweat all over my bedroom. It’s enough to make you cry. I think I did.

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