Box 22

I’m killing it today. I’m already on box 22. I don’t know what I’m going to do for the next two hours. I guess I’ll just work reeeeeeeally slooooooooowly on the last three boxes.

I don’t need to draw the lines anymore, either, although that would give me something to do.

Box 22 sounds like a horror movie. I don’t like horror movies anymore. Ever since my mom died, I can’t watch them. Even before that, though, I was on the fence. As silly as the franchise was, Blair Witch kept me up all night. Both of them.

When I was a kid I used to write slasher ghost stories. My friend, Jen Bollen, loved scary movies, so I think I thought I did, too.

In high school and college, I wrote lots of angsty poetry. I did have one poem that I think was pretty good, called Happy Valentine. It was about the 5th floor RA in my dorm from freshman year who done me wrong.

I might get in trouble at work. The plant manager watched me bank on my phone less than 10 minutes before the end of the day. Isn’t it ridiculous that you can get in trouble for that? Plenty of other people do it, too, I’ve seen them. I just happened to get caught. Gee, I’m sorry I finished my work a little ahead of time. My apologies for being too efficient. I promise I’ll work slower next time.

It just burns my butt. I’m a good worker. I’m a hard worker. Don’t stare at me like I’ve committed a crime.

Anyway, I’m glad to be home. Aislyn has caught my cold/ flu. We ate some peanut butter ice cream together for a snack. I sprayed Redi-Whip all over the kitchen. Good times.

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