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Why is it that three (well, technically four) days can seem like fifteen?

I was gonna Greyhound myself down to Corvallis on Friday, but I had no money. So Cory was going to buy one online for me, but you have to buy them ten days in advance. So he came up on Thursday night and took me down with him on Friday morning. I spent much of Friday and Saturday afternoon drooling over cooking shows, napping, finishing my cross-stitch, and writing about Autumn. (The girl, not the season.) Fried chicken, fajitas, cheese sandwiches, lots of cookies, and chai were consumed, though not at the same time and not necessarily in that order. Eyes speak volumes where mouths cannot and/or will not. I definitely reccomend reading "Rebecca" by Daphne du Maurier, especially outside by railroad tracks while playing fetch with a golden retriever.

The ride home was fraught with concern with what was happening at home. I've never had that kind of worry before. I was wondering who called, who emailed, what kind of "real" mail I got, whether the owner of the apartments had come in with the plumber and found Vladimir... turns out nobody emailed me, Nicoal and Jason called, I got Dad's check for six hundred dollars in the mail, the plumber's coming on Wednesday, and I have a job! Columbia Sportswear in Beaverton needs a short-term mailroom clerk. I figure I'll be looking for a job still anyway, because it could be anywhere from a week to a month long, or something like that. I have no clue. But I'm going to get money for it, and that's all that matters. The lady at the temp agency called me back a few minutes after she told me the job particulars, and said that I'm actually getting $9.50 instead of just $9, so that's good. Hopefully they'll need me for a long time. I'm tired of having no money.

I can't find my VoiceStream bill. How many places can it be, in a stupid studio apartment like mine? Hmm.

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