I was too tired to work on this last night. That, and I was a little cranky. I really don't know why, but I think I should start at the top. Maybe I can figure it out. Nicki woke up this morning with a bad stomach ache. I helped her get ready for work, and took her to McDs as usual. The stomach pains weren't getting any better, and I didn't think that it was a wise idea in the first place. She got her usual 6-piece, and I dropped her off at work.

All throughout the afternoon, and continuing on into the evening, she and I were emailing each other at work. She said that things weren't getting any better. After we ruled out Ebola, AIDS, Diarrhea, pregnancy, accidentally swallowing LSD and Acid, we figured she had either Food Poisoning, or an Alien growing in her. When we realized that Aliens don't exist yet, we were pretty sure that she had food poisoning, probably from the chicken nuggets she ate the day before. She told me that it was murder on her stomach to eat her food and the protein bar she had, and she finally had to leave at 7:30. That wouldn't have bothered me except that I had just gotten my lunch changed from 7:30 to 9:00, when she's normally scheduled to be off. Nicki did, on her own, show back up at 9:00 with the car so that I could go home for lunch.

I don't know why that made me more upset. I guess it was because that I felt that she should have been knocked out in bed, heating pad on the stomach and sipping on soup. It didn't infuriate me, but it did rankle me for a bit, while at the same time surprise me. Either that, or it was because I took 23 calls yesterday, almost every last one of them about freaking broken washers, and usually from people (and Lowe's store personnel) who couldn't tell the difference between a .50cal slug and a .5.56mm Remington. Hell, I could have put a M16 and a Desert Eagle on a table, ask them to point to the weapon that is referred to as a pistol, and they'd point to the M16. I'd then promptly proceed to pick up the Desert Eagle, point out their error, and shoot them. In fact, if I was dealing with store personnel, I wouldn't give them that much of a chance. I'd just get Rico, arm both of us with tricked out M4s (silencer, scope, extra mags, the works), and we'd help reduce the burgeoning world population. Yeah. In a dream world.

I did have a customer ask to speak with a sup to give me a compliment. This should have made me really happy, but for some reason, it didn't. I sound really bored and pissed off, for some reason and not because I want to, on the phones. I guess it was because I managed to get this lady an appt Saturday for her washer. I should have thought to save the phone number for the file, and made sure that she got taken care of. Anyways, this means that my company now gets to hand me an 'official' certificate of customer appreciation that enables my fellow co-workers to compliment me on how brown my nose looks. Will kept pointing that out, and John, a guy who was recently placed next all of us, was saying that I asked this lady to speak with the sup to give the compliment. They were fucking around, but it's nice to know that I work with such a lovely bunch of people.

I came home last night, and I meant to post completed inspections for Rogue Reviews, but I was so out of sorts that I pretty much just called it a night. I'll get them posted tonight. Earlier this morning I reorganized my Alternate Entries page, so that it's now grouped by the adventure that I put my fictional mercenary group Oversight partake in. I might even go back through there and read what I wrote before, and that might con me into writing more in my book.

Time is short and the book is long. I shall be reading again.