Not my day. Because 'My Day' sounds like it went as I wanted it to.

I woke up at two in the afternoon, feeling less like rough and more like ill-fated hedgehog rolled into the road.

Why? You may ask. Why are you so damn lazy?

I'm not lazy, I'm tired. I sleep when I don't want to be awake and when I'm tired. I don't sleep just because I can. I'm tired all the time these days. That's how I'd describe a bad case of clinical depression. It feels like being thoroughly tired, like.. all over. Everything you feel is exhausted and everything you do is exhausting. Commiting yourself to doing anything when you don't feel like it feels like an emotional hazard. There aren't any strong emotions, not really. More like tiny breezes or sparks next to a tidal wave - hardly the most noticeable thing.

Those are the bad days, anyway.

Today wasn't a bad day, I suppose. It was a day that I'll forget about by the end of tomorrow because it'll blend in with a whole army of other days that amount to nothing glorious.

I spent last night nursing a God-awful headache whilst doing the whole 'Jaded' thing. I watched TV without taking any of it in, listened to sad music, looked at photos of times when I actually saw my friends - or anyone - more than once every three weeks, re-read old conversations that made me smile and let out a big. sigh.

This morning? I woke up and baked a cake without any of the pleasure I usually get out of cooking. I watched the end of Marley & Me with Cleo and had a little cry because it reminds me of Zebbie, who I miss more than anything. I cancelled an appointment with my psychologist (yeah..) because talking doesn't help in the slightest, I sat in my room and stared at the ceiling, made plans that made no sense. Nothing much of anything.

The plans were my favourite part of the day.

Easier said than done.

My house is right in the middle of York. It's a stone's throw away from Pavement a.k.a. the city centre. My mum's house is the last place in York that you can be without not being in York. It's slightly uphill for the whole way. We can't afford to tax the car this month. I have a rusty bike that more or less works so I thought I'd bike down to my mum's today because I was feeling exercise-y (I'd just managed to fit snugly into a pair of jeans that hadn't fit me for three years - woop!).

Getting there was precious. My legs felt a little wobbly when I tried to walk around, get a drink, die on my arse, etc..

Getting back was something else entirely. I felt sick so I thought I'd get myself home before the skies opened because, this being York, it's always on the verge of rain if it's not sunny. I like biking places. I like going places fast, or faster than walking, though walking's good too.

It was all going alright until I got to halfway down my street. There's a hill there that takes a bit of work, and it's also covered in speedbumps because the council are sadists and there's also a river at the bottom of the hill that is realllllly good at getting driven into, so..

Anyway.

I tried to stand up on my bike to work my way up the hill but I couldn't manage it so I thought I'd just dismount and walk the rest of the way.

Des Down The Road was there, sat on a wall with his leg in a cast (motorcycle incident) watching my slow progress. It was an epic defeat, realising I was gonna have to get off my bike, but it only got worse.

You know on Bridget Jones' Diary where she is on the exercise bike and she tries to get off it and flops to the floor?

That happened.

My legs just folded. I tried to stagger upright but they just collapsed again. I crawled awkwardly towards the path, trying to keep my bike from falling on top of me with an air of dignity that I save for special occasions. Des Down The Road burst out laughing.

Joe.

I have a deep and profound connection with my local supermarket. It's the one that I vomited all over the floor in when I was six and dying of stomach flu. It's the one that I feel less like dying in because ZOMG I KNOW WHERE EVERYTHING IS!!!!11!!!1! It's the one that does amazing offers on Coca Cola that basically ensure my teeth are going to hell within the next four years.

It also has a skate park in the car park, rats in the trolley bay and smells of 'just-past-clean'.

AND the toilets are all lit in blue so you can't see your veins to inject The Drugs, it's THAT badass.

Anyway.

I usually go there when I'm going to make my world-famous lasagne, and I'm always served by the same person when I pay.

His name is Joe.

Joe is easily into his fifties, has a faded tattoo in his inner left forearm of a celtic cross, has some teeth missing, one ear pierced, cannot remember solid decades of his life and has the most awesome sense of presence that I've ever come across.

Joe is just golden.

JOE IS AWESOME.

But of course nobody sees that. No one goes to that run-down store that smells of 'just-past-clean' with tired, quirky staff and has a conversation with Joe, which really sucks because he's no regular Joe.

I don't think I have a conclusion here.

Love thy Joes.

I have nothing to say other than "Wake me up, before you go, go.."

I'm doing short, sweet posts because otherwise I'll burn out by next week.

So you know yesterday when someone asked for my number after they asked if I (on behalf of the store, I guess) had any jobs and I looked down at myself and said 'Uh, no, not on me.' like an idiot?

Of course you do.

Well, this morning he drove past me whilst I was walking to work and shouted/sang "WAKE ME UP, BEFORE YOU GO GO!" as he went flying past.

It was ferking awesome.

I also dropped into ASDA (literally Brit equivalent of Wal Mart) to beg for a job whilst wearing my work uniform and dying of sun-ness. It was surprisingly easy. One of my managers even helped me with the application form.

So here's a round up of the month so far:

1. Got many piercings.
2. Became irresistable babe overnight..
3. Applied for a second job.

Four days into the month.. Not bad, really.

Strange/awesome things that happened at work today:*

*Full of mystery, I know.

Mo-Balls's awesome mum took us to the retail park I work in, bought me an amazing frappacino AND was totally understanding when I had to bolt off to work three minutes before I was due to start, all before I started work. Ah-may-zing.
A man walked into the store and said to me "Rentakill, I'm here to.. uhh.. look around." I'd been on my shift for oh... ten minutes and hadn't had the childish enthusiasm drained out of me yet so I immediately squealed "OH MY GOD! NINJAS!!!!"

I got someone to apply for a store card for the first time in six months. I'm AWESOME.

Someone asked for my number. Scary fucking potatoes.

I considered getting a second job, like, working the early hours of the morning so I could balance the shifts out easier.

See, folks? Work still hasn't broken me.. yet.

News just in: My face hurts.

So...

I did it.

Today I went all around town and ended up with these muthas:

You can just see one of the earrings through my hair.

Barely even swollen. Yay me.

I'd say this was a triumph.

Now, let's see if I can dodge infection for however long they take to heal.

No, no. NOW you're sorry.

I'm gonna attempt NaBloPoMo again this month.

No, please... Don't cry...

Ahem.

The theme is 'now', so..

This month is going off with a BANG, or at least an OWW, because I'm dishing out a whole new kind of payback.

You see, I'm über pissed at my mum for getting off-her-tits drunk whilst I was in one of my black moods and Cleo was there (she gets stressed, she doesn't like not having someone in a solid frame of mind around), and then just being insanely annoying for all of it.

Sooooo...

I'm exacting my revenge.

Tomorrow I'm going to get a fuckload of piercings.

I could not tell you where, or how many, or how much it'll cost, or if I'll chicken out (I have no piercings)..

But tomorrow, I will come home (and then go to work - woe is me -) with more holes then I went out with.

(Hahahaha...)

Suck on THAT.