I've got a whole season and a half of The 4400 to catch up on.

The operating hours of the coffee shop have been cut by 15. This is an hour less every weekday, two hours less on Saturday, and eight hours less on Sunday.

My coworkers are pissed and it's showing in their work.

I, however, (along with LN) am not pissed. LN and I are the only two employees working there who have to pay rent, therefore we get preferential treatment when it comes to hours. Everyone gets cut but us.

Soon the newbies will get so fed up they quit which means more hour pellets for Pac-Me to gobble up.

I have the most horriffic gas this morning. It smells like the farts of a decomposing elderly dead man whose last meal was a nine-bean jumbo burrito.

Yesterday I dusted my room and sneezed. What I really want to do is clean and rearrange B's room. Yes, he knows where everything is, but that doesn't make it organized. There are piles of books wherever he sees fit. I love the man to death, but to make my point I'll share this: I vacuumed his room a couple weeks ago because the dust next to his walls was so thick I could roll it into a life-sized dust bunny. I attacked the floor and he had no qualms with that. If I attack his meticulously organized ridiculous mess of books and papers, he says, there will be hell to pay. He may cannibalize me.

I just hope he won't have me rare like he does his steaks.

It's so weird. There was a point at which I thought I'd never have this kind of familiarity with someone ever again. And yet.

My boss will be here soon. I'd best sign off.

Oh. Almost forgot.

Hot Topic so totally has an American Psycho fleece throw blanket. Would I shit you? I shit you not!

Nearly bought it.