An Ode to Surviving: The Post Office Probs

Hello, again, all! Looks like I have already gone off the writing grid to sell my soul to the work devil…and the exercise devil….and the healthy living devil. Well, just a brief update shall do then:

1. I work a little less than I was when I wrote my first post–which can be a good thing, or a bad thing, depending on how you want to spin that.

2. I ate very healthily for about 3 weeks and spent three weeks making up for all the delish things I missed. I’m attempting to not make it 4, but I’m out of grocery money, and will be surviving off Cheerios as well as whatever lettuce is left in my fridge. Lucky for me, I have about 4 chicken breast left and some pasta.

3. Valentine’s Day is now over, and my darling boyfriend has not even gotten his gift yet. Thank you, USPS!

So here’s the sitch, now that you’re all updated, all maybe one or two of my readers–ah, I am dying inside, really–I’m going to disclose some personal information here, and I don’t even care!

Firstly, what did we all do for love day? I know I spent an ungodly amount of money at the post office trying to get my boyfriend his gift (he currently lives about 900 miles away from me), and not only did it not show up on time, but it is now two days late with zero tracking update. While you can imagine my frustration with the post office, I can assure you, my frustration is the least of my worries.

Here I am, browsing the world of the internet brainstorming cute things to do for VDay on account of I have no cash flow, and I wanted it to be something from the heart, when all of a sudden I say screw it, and do what I am good at: writing letters, and making cute boxes of things. So here I am, 10 letters and a bottle of very expensive cologne later, and no gift being delivered to my boyfriend.

Naturally, I got insurance, but the money isn’t what bothers me. It’s the fact that I spent so much time and put so much original thought into those letters that I am seriously going to be crushed if he doesn’t get them. I could care less about the hot man smell packed inside that red Valentine’s Day box, though, it does make you forget everything you thought you knew about life before you smelled it.

So, my next step you ask? Well, I do believe it is to give the post office a few hours tomorrow, call, explain my frustration and tell them to get their asses in gear because they’re making me very sad. Not that they really care.

While this was just a short post–you should see my diary–I bid you adieu and goodnight. I am already ridiculously tired at 8:00 and seem rather conflicted this evening. Which can only mean a few things: zen playlist and a real leather journal entry.

Farewell 🙂