Christ Almighty. If there's one thing I've learned from my 16-hour work day (with a two hour interval between jobs) it's this:

Jobs that don't involve customers are infinitely superior to those that do.

Last week I was all like, "P-shaw, I can totally be one of those sleepless types who fuel themselves with bottomless cups of espresso and 90-calorie granola bars, racing from job number 1 to job number 2. No sweat, baby."

At first, things seemed promising. Expectedly, I was on the groggy side, but that was a small price to pay for all the cash I'd soon be funneling into my bank account.

But one (then two, then three, then four) customers from the deepest layer of Hades supplied me with more than enough reason to say: Why the fuck bother with this?! Seriously, I'm thinking one non-customer job is plenty.

I know - bad customers are such a cliched complaint from anyone who has to deal with them. But holy hell. I used to really like people. Now I only "like" people with a sour taste of distrust so foul I automatically barricade my soul for protection. If I continue to allow customers to blugeon my sunny free-spirit to a bloody pulp I may never regain purity of consciousness again. I don't like this me. People who aren't even rude to me annoy me. Which doesn't even make sense, so the solution is to NOT work with customers anymore. Fine.

This library computer timer is making me feel edgy, so over and out.