Errands, and I Digress...

I like running errands. This might make me a mutant ooze-creature from an uninhabited bog in some dark corner of the Earth, but I do. I like the straightforwardness of making lists and checking off tasks once they're completed. Perhaps it makes me feel useful, which, during the summer, is a rare occurrence.

My boyfriend makes eleven dollars an hour sitting in a cubicle from seven to four every day shooting me emails as a makeshift messaging service. And occasionally answering service calls. Or something. I make seven-fifty an hour to teach children how not to drown. I get kicked in the bladder (which is nearly always full), hit in the face, or groped at least once every night. I have to deal with unhappy parents, hyperactive kids, and a repetitive curriculum. With my current job, sometimes the only thing I feel like I've accomplished upon returning home is soaking up more chlorine.

And I feel like a chemically violated sponge. My fingers don't even prune until I've been in the water for at least two hours. Apparently I've developed a resistance to moisture. My skin looks like a cracked river bed, and the lotion I slather on it at least once a day evaporates too quickly to make any real difference.

When did this turn into a bitching session? Steering it in another direction.

I had lunch at Fazoli's with my friend Alix today. I've missed talking to her. We're both incredibly pathetic. As she doesn't have a job and only volunteers at a museum a couple hours a week, and I don't work until later in the day, you would think one of us would pick up the phone and call the other. Ah, well. Lazy college students that we are... can't expect much.

We came back to my house afterwards and watched Hook, which I absolutely love. Greatly enjoy Dustin Hoffman. Can't even begin to describe how hilarious he is. I have a penchant for watching movies I used to be obsessed with as a child and seeing all the adult humor that I previously hadn't cottoned on to. "Near-sighted gynecologist" has got to be the most hilarious insult ever. Too bad Rufio only had a fifth-grade reading level...