Chipped nails make me wail

So, the stress is back. Well, okay. Not stress exactly, but chaos. Lots of chaos. At least, that’s how it feels to me. I don’t understand why I go from being completely comfortable with my busy schedule to suddenly being overwhelmed with it. Probably because I’m working 26 hours this week. Kill me. In addition to the already annoying concept of working (what can I say, I’m a bum and I’d rather sleep than work), I’m closing four days this week. That means that my entire shift is going to be moving at a snails pace. That means I’m going to be staying at a cash register for a couple of hours doing nothing. That means I am not going to be a happy camper.

I’ve gotten to the point where I’m so freakin’ busy that my nails are chipped. My nails are chipped. Maybe that seems like a weird validation of how busy I am, but you don’t understand. I think that the state of your nails symbolizes the type of person you are. If you have neat, manicured nails, then I am led to believe that you are a clean, caring individual. And if you have scraggly nails with chipped polish and dirt peaking from under them, then I am led to believe that you are a grungy mess who can’t be bothered with maintaining a flawless nail bed. That may seem strange to you, but seriously. I, Lizzi Holland, judge people by the state of their nails. Excuse my judgements. But, at least I’m not judging people by how much money they have or what clothes they buy. I’m judging by something anyone can control.

On the bright side, my mom bought me those little pasta steamers for lunch. So, at least I won’t be running on fumes anymore. And my fumes I mean the toxic waste our school calls a balanced meal.

Gah, seriously someone. Kill me. I won’t press charges, I swear.