Thursday, June Eighth

The mid-morning air is sweet outside my client’s house. I’m still tired. Dakota kept me awake defending his possessive language and behavior towards me. What a cop-out: blaming his BPD? Kristina advised I say goodnight and go to sleep.

The next three hours seem to stretch out in front of me. I just want to go home and sleep. I need a shower: it’s been days, but I’ve gotten away with it because my hair didn’t look greasy like it felt. This isn’t the case today. Noah offered to order me lunch. I’ll have to get back to him soon if I want to eat.

Did I mention I’m incredibly tired?

I haven’t heard from Mary in a while and some Mandi girl from POF ghosted me after she received the foot picture she requested of all things. I wonder if my client will notice if I fall asleep in this chair.

Later I’ll put up my clean clothes and see what I could sell to finance my potential move to Louisville. Or my more possible move to Lexington. I have a few pairs of jeans in good condition that I suspect I won’t me in one to wear them again. In a fit of anxiety I bit all of my nails off again. I suppose it’s alright: seeing them all of uneven lengths bothered me.

Inspiration seems to escape me today; I just cannot find anything interesting or worthwhile to write about. Maybe since I have so many things I need to do, I can’t clear my mind enough to be creative. Yesterday I did not have this problem.

The shutters of the press cameras at the Comey hearing flutter, capturing his stone-set face. My client has fallen asleep in his chair again and I’d love to do the same in mine.

I have had some success on dating sites of late. Disclosing that I was getting off to a new match was probably a bad idea since I’m not sure if I’ll pursue anything with him. Less than two hours of these five to go.

Before I awoke, my dream placed me in the gym of St. Mark’s school. There was a funeral wake taking place and I was charged with driving my Aunt Betsy somewhere. We fumbled over a seat belt in the backseat.

My facial skin is clearing up, to my great surprise and pleasure. Two shows I watch had new episodes yesterday, which I watched during my television binge yesterday afternoon. Those seem to be the things I overindulge in these days: TV and sleep.

I’m not happy about the timing or way Comey handled the Clinton email case, but do believe his treatment by the idiot in chief is disgustingly inappropriate and disrespectful.

I was wrong about the time before: I leave in one hour thirty six minutes until I can leave, though I may need to leave late. Due to a crazy bitch trying to run me off the interstate, I came in a few minutes than I should have. It would not surprise me if I ended up not putting this in my blog. (*A/N: we just won’t tell past!Anna this, will we?) I think I’ll get back on my phone out of sheer boredom after I make bed. Now it’s an hour and twenty five to go, plus eight to make up for the lateness.

Mom suggested a book for me about care-giving. The Lexington shift client’s condition is getting to me on a deep level. You’re perhaps read my rant on prolonging life passed its time: I really feel that keeping her like this is torture. It’s cruel to sustain her in my work when I she’s either in pain, not here, or both.

I received a raise from the Operations Manager of the company as a means to keep me. As of yesterday I am making $10 an hour. Not to sound greedy, but I know I worth more than this and I will continue my pursuit of a better paying job with benefits.

One hour, seven minutes to go. How is someone as stupid as Donald J. Trump still president? Ugh. Poor Comey has been on the stand for two hours now. I hope he doesn’t need to pee. Seventeen minutes. It is so corrupt that Trump fired him over the Russia investigation. That screams guilt.

Thirteen minutes: why? So tired. Writing back and forth with a guy from Tinder today, Clark. I quoted the Hulk from The Avengers movie, but I’m not sure if he placed the reference. A Clark without superhero knowledge; what’s sadder than that? He said something about hitting him up whenever I have a lady-boner. I replied. “That’s my secret, Clark: I always have a lady-boner.” Incredibly smooth line? I think so!

Friday, June Ninth

Ugh. Why does Tom Cruise think he gets to remake the Mummy? The “niece” with the dated hairdon’t is here to pick up the client’s husband. She’s here a lot lately. And now she’s headed to the bathroom. Awesome. I was really looking forward to breathing in her waste for the next two hours. Cricket opened the door on her. Guess that smelly dog is alright after all.

Attempting to take pills with very little water hurts. Gags waiting to happen. My bottom right molars are still highly sensitive. It’s barely been an hour and I’m so bored. I’m very tired and my dreams were very strange. (I slept from yesterday afternoon until evening, watched How I Met Your Mother, then slept until this morning.) I was in a huge white mansion that was almost school-like. My companions were vampires and at one point not included in the dream they turned me. In the backyard of an unfortunate victim I was forced to abandon a vile with a purple sparky substance because having it would expose our condition. When we were back in the mansion they had me on my hands and knees in a plush, purple velvet room. The girl fingered me from behind as the guy sucked on my nipples and teased my clit. I may have conjured these images the next morning.

Had to cut Clark loose due to his insistence that I come meet him (for the first time ever) at his place. I said I’d rather meet in public, that I have a system to keep myself safe. The mere existence or my safe system seemed to infuriate him and I reported his behavior after he made a few red flag statements, also making fun of my SJW ways. What a useless tool. Told Sam from CIT and sent her the screenshots: she was right with me, he was a grade A creep.

Peyton is redeeming himself after implying my major was created on Tumblr.

I’VE FUCKING HAD IT! My client’s husband keeps blaming me for not being able to move her. If she’s stiff, she is immobile I CANNOT MOVE HER.

How could I forget to mention that I stopped contact with Dakota completely last night? The night before he referred to me as “his Anna” and in combination with his overall clingy and possessive as fuck behavior I had to let him go.

Meeting Peyton here. Wish me luck!

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