I know that this is going to sound horrible, but if I was fated to fall and sprain my ankle, why couldn't it have been while I was on the job so I could get Workers' Comp?

I feel really badly right now, because I'm supposed to be at work, but I'm not. Let's start at the beginning, shall we?

Today, I went with Scooter, Jeff, and Ryan up to SFU to film an assignment for our film techniques class. After nearly 4 grueling hours of trying to get half an hour's worth of footage in one location, we packed up and went for a late lunch. I got a large pizza and some crazy bread so that I could bring some dinner home for Josh, and then we went back to school to return the equipment. Shortly after that, I caught the buses home. As I was disembarking on my street, one of my useless weak ankles collapsed, and milliseconds later I was flat on my back, with a pizza box on my chest, screaming and howling in pain. I managed to pull myself to an upright position with the help on the bus stop sign, and I somehow struggled across the street and to the end of the cul-de-sac where I live. By this time, my ankle was in such pain, that I could no longer stand, and had to crawl down the stairs to my suite.

Lying on the floor of the living room, I decided that I had two choices. I could wait half an hour and see how I felt, or I could just go to work like nothing happened and suffer. I decided that since I had plenty of time, I'd take some Tylenol, and if I still couldn't stand in 20 minutes, I'd call in sick. Well, 20 minutes later I stood up, and nearly fell over again from the searing pain in my foot. Still, I felt really really guilty about missing work, so I made an amendment: since I could stand (even though it was immensely painful), I'd go to work if I could stand in my work shoes. Unfortunately, it was a no-go. I collapsed, and burst into tears. I had to call the manager and tell him I couldn't make it. He told me that I would need a doctor's note. That ticks me off, because in addition to not earning $40 by missing work tonight, I need to pay $35 so some doctor can write on a piece of paper: "Yes, Erin's ankle is sprained." Also, I don't really have time to scout out doctors in the area before my next shift. Oh, and I can't walk. Since I have no car, that might be a teensy bit of a problem.

I feel so guilty about missing work, because I'm new, and because I think the manager didn't believe me, even though I was almost in tears when I called.

Well, enough of me complaining. I have homework that needs doing.

At work, we have a CD on repeat to provide pop music to the masses who visit the theatre. This wouldn't be so bad if I didn't work eight hour shifts and if the CD weren't only 40 minutes long. In fact, that's almost forgivable, except for two songs on the CD: "Sk8er Boi" by Avril Lavigne, and that new No Doubt song where they keep saying: "Do you really love him, underneath it all?" Apparently we're going to be using this music until sometime in December, and I work about 60 more hours this month. I'm no good at math, but that's like hearing Avril and Gwen battle for pop supremecy 90 times.

Please save me. Or help me find a way to switch the CD without the managers noticing.

This morning I ate a bagel that called itself "Tribeca Trim." The package then went on to explain that Tribeca was a warehous district in New York, and during the sixties, artists and free spirits moved there to inhabit the airy lofts. Now it is a trendy area of the city. Do I care about this little history lesson? Not really. I just wanted my bagel. When I flipped the package over to check for nutritional content, there was a little blurb about how their bagel recipe was the one that the New York Jews had brought over from Europe. I'm trying to connnect these two facts in my head. Was Tribeca full of Jewish hippies?

I wonder if this company has any other New York-flavoured bagels (Josh bought them, so I don't know what else the grocery store sells). Perhaps SoHo Slim, or Manhattan Multigrain?

I should shut up now.

I can't sleep. I almost fell asleep during my film screening class (we watched "The Insider" and then discussed grassroots movements against Big Tobacco *snooze*), but I can't sleep now.

I have to work tomorrow evening, from six until midnight. Then I get to go to work again at eight-thirty a.m. on Saturday. Is that even legal? Wait, they have to give you at least eight hours in between shifts. So it's barely legal, just like me.

Never mind, all it boils down to is I get four hours of sleep that night before having to wake up and catch the bus to work. Because it's such a crappy shift, nobody wants to switch with me. When I grow up, I want to be the person who writes the official schedule for the company schedulers. When they find out how crappy it is to work for eight hours on only four hours of sleep, maybe they'll change their ways. Also, when I worked on Wednesday, it was dark when I woke up, slightly overcast when I caught the bus, but as I was taking the glass elevator up to work, the clouds suddenly blew away, and a brilliant beam of sunshine illuminated the whole elevator. And was I ever ticked off. It was the first sunshine in days, and I had to spend eight torturous hours in the snack bar, with a full view of the clear blue sky out the giant windows. It was the fact that I could look but not enjoy that really got to me. I had spent hours travelling to and from school and work in the rain on Monday and Tuesday, and wanted nothing more than to go outside and be warm and dry in the blinding late-autumn sunshine. Finally, when my shift ended, I looked up at the window, hoping for a few dying rays to cavort in, but it was pitch black outside. I silently cursed to myself, annoyed at the bad luck that had fallen upon me.

I always hated that type of day in high school, the days when I'd leave the house before dark, and be trapped inside while the sun blazed cool rays outside. Then I'd trudge home afterwards, once again in the dark, disoriented from spending eight or more hours under nasty, buzzing flourescent light. I think that's why I get so tired and irritable in the winter, after the clocks have been changed back from Daylight Savings time.

I really should crawl into bed with Josh, but I don't like using the bed for things other than sleep and um...other...uhhh...bed related things. If I do, I can't sleep in that bed. Take for instance, my old bed (the one Josh and I dismantled). Well, I used to use that bed for things like reading and doing homework, in addition to sleeping. Finally, it got so that when I laid down in bed, my subconcious would tell me I should get a book and read, or finish up some homework. Staying up until all hours of the night to figure out the ending of a 500-page novel wasn't exactly good for sleeping. Therefore, I stopped sleeping in bed, and kind of migrated onto the floor. I don't want that to happen with the bed I share with Josh, so I have completely cut out non-sleep related activities (except cuddling [which leads to sleep] and the other bed thing). That's why I'm on the computer. I figure that by following my plan I can exorcise the subconcious bed-demons that once kept me awake. Besides, there are only two bad things that can happen from this plan, one more embarrassing than the other. The first is that when ever I lay down in bed, my subconcious tells me to do the thing that isn't sleep. That isn't too bad, because at least there's the possiblity I'll wear myself out and pass out. The second (more embarrassing thing) is that by equating cuddle with bed, and bed with sleep, I'll be cuddling with Josh somewhere in public, and end up catching a few z's. That's only bad because I talk (more of an incoherent babble, really) and drool when I sleep.

All this talk about sleep should be making me sleepy.