I have no beef with the rest of this day

"It's about the job."
"You're here about the job?"
"Uh huh. Can I leave a CV with you?"
"You want to leave a CV?"
"Yes. Yes, I do."
Only I very much don't want that job after talking to you, asshole. You look about twelve, don't patronise me just because you're wearing a tie your mother bought you from Next. Cheeky bugger.

The art store was prettier and cheerier. The music stores refused to take it and redirected me to a website that instantly shoots me down (it is harder to blag when your options are merely Yes I have retail experience or No). Another day of selling myself. It's the follow ups that bother me. But I paint the smile well. I even manage a small conversation with the woman in Ann Summers, was cordial to the security guard that walked me to the door asking me if I though it might rain. I listened to the Classics secretary whine about first years as we walked to her office since I managed to turn up to the wrong registration class. So much politeness. I had nothing left by the time the old lady grabbed my arm and said there's a 66 up there. You can see it? No, no I can't see it. I am shortsighted and busy looking in the other direction where my bus is. Stop trying to make me get on the bus with you.

Goddammit there is no cornflower blue. Why do you need Light Crockery Blue or Light Grayish Cobalt? I mean really it's spoiling the doodle. I watched North by Northwest tonight. Cary Grant. He always makes me smile. And I found a conker today. And I walked further down the road to catch my bus into the class I missed to see if the black cat was out but only the other cats of that house were out and they never come when you call them. There is a band called The Vaselines. That is a terrible name. My hand is covered in authors I couldn't afford today. 6 or 7 of them in ink I'll have to scrub off in a big black bruise like the eyeliner that's sweeping down my cheek with every drooping blink