Dumb stuff

This is what I think: he's not actually trying to mess with my head, he just doesn't think before acting. And that's as charitable as I can get right now. I'm really irritated. It feels like I keep stapling him into a box and he stays there for a week or so, and I start to forget about it, and then he pops out and I have to go look for the stapler again. I guess I could probably actually be mean instead of merely unwelcoming. I'm sick of it though. It doesn't feel tragic in a novel way anymore. It feels like an unoriginal crappy story that belongs in a dumb girl's life. Anyways, who staples boxes? Of course on some level the attention is nice, but this attention makes me feel like I'm eating skittles when I'm hungry for lunch.
I'm going to bed.

Things are otherwise okay. Up to 86 babies. Tomorrow's a half day. I'm still wearing the big coat. Dad came up this weekend and went on and on about how great I was. Really tired--Wednesdays are our busiest days in the office--and today I had tons of patients and a birth in the middle of it all-- and afterwards I drove up to Chattanooga to watch American Idol and hang out with the old roommates. So maybe I should stop thinking and go to sleep.