I'm no good at working.

Though the story of how I was hired and quit in one day this summer probably deserves its own post, I feel compelled to tell you that I am horrible at working.

I was hired to my new (second of the summer!) job at the end of June. Literally that night I came down with a fever that had me simultaneously hallucinating that a) I, taking it one step further than Matthew Broderick in 1983's WarGames, had instigated a global nuclear war which led to the apocalypse, and b) my bedroom walls were made of rainbow sherbet. Needless to say, I missed my first day of work. And my second.

Boy, was my boss unhappy. I thought I was gonna get fired before I'd even been to the office. Luckily I was able to have someone drop off some paperwork at my apartment so I could arrive at the office ahead of schedule on Day 3. So everything worked out.

And then less than a month  later I went on a family trip for a week up in Lake Tahoe.

Now I'm fucked. I have so much work to catch up with.

This was all a long way of saying that I'm gonna actually try to do more of what my job description says over the next few days and less of bragging about how hilariously juvenile my life is.

But the term of the job ends in three weeks anyway. Ain't I a stinker?