(no subject)

Friday evening at the mall store.

I--I don't even know. 

Patti (manager in training) finally said to me, when we closed: "Haha--you worked hard and look exhausted.  I feel kinda bad for you.  Go home!"  Because... I did end the day with a clean store.  Not perfect, but clean.  And apparently that is unordinary.

Apparently, actually, I work harder than I need to work.  Yesterday, Manager-Witch Loren told me several times that I can't go back to school, I have to stay here and help because no one else works like that.  Which left me feeling slightly flattered, and a little used.  I am not paid enough.  I've finally found a point in my life where, yeah, compliments are nice, but monetary compensation would be better.

I'm very tired.  The last few days have been very tiring.  Yesterday evening, there was a very strange ache in my legs that was--not a pulled hurt, or a knotted hurt, but just a tired protesting of any kind of movement, particularly the up-and-down elevation changes you make at a shoe store.  But I sat down and played piano this morning.  I'll probably never be good at it, really, and I'm pretty sure that my parents and my grandma are the only people who like to hear me play.  So it's a selfish hobby.  But I like it, even though my timing is bad and I hesitate all over and stammer tricky passages.  There are, I imagine, buckets of activities which become more enjoyable when you just take away things like pride and ambition.  They're bad at parties.

Oh!  I made chicken cacciatore for my family the other night too, since I was home in the evening.  It was fantastic.  My dad just looked at me with a confused expression and said, "This is... really good."  I imagine it was an accident.

My brain is broken tonight, which is unfortunate, because I wanted to write.  But maybe it's safer not.