Silverthorne

Because it's new.

I've been getting into Second life a little; it's kinda fun to wander around people's home made sims and see what they did with them. I did spend a little money on player made modifications, and decided to go ahead and model my avatar after my WoW hunter, and so here she is, all nice and gothic-ized and moderned out for the camera.

Hey...it's something to do, right?

In other news; I've set the wheel in motion to start (free) counsiling for my depression.
My left heel is constantly hurting.
My boss actually finally told me I HAVE to take two days off in a row in the next month (which is a huge change from all the times in the past year where I'd ask when I good time was and always get the 'not now' reply), so I'm aiming for next Monday and Tuesday, or the one after that.
I've been feeling sick, exhausted, unloved and freaked out for about a month and a half now.

Oh, and yeah, I'm getting sent to collections by my hospital for the worker's comp bill from LAST JANUARY, even though I've repeatedly done everything my rep told me to do to keep that from happening (Because not only am I not supposed to be paying for it, but I should have never seen a bill at all...well, I've seen about six by now).

Between the depression and the sheer stress of YET AGAIN having my credit fucked up by outside sources, I've been spending a good portion of the night alternating between screaming at the heavens and crying.

And watching the second Crow movie and being annoyed that the guy who got the part won it out from under Bon Jovi (who, yes, did audition for it).

So, yeah, my life is fucking great, how about you?

(Sarcasm...it does not do well on text).

Anyway, enjoy the icon. I'm going to go make my sixth attempt at trying to go to bed without getting angry and waking myself up all over again.

Dear Post Office:
Learn how to tell the difference between a return address and the intended destination of a piece of mail.


Dear UPS:
The answer to crushing a box of lab chemicals in your conveyer belt is not to wrap it in a plastic bag, put it in a bigger, clean box, and then continue to ship it to my company. FoAD, right this moment, please.

Dear Everyone Else:
Next person who makes a shipping mistake today that I have to wade through will get force-fed their own balls, whether they have them or not.

Not-love,
Me.

This public service announcement was brought to you by the letters P, M, and S.

And sometimes 'y'.

:P