Vegetus, Patron Saint of Homeless Edible Greenery (and other items of interest)

I gave away my shift at JavaCo on Thursday because I was sick of working. I would rather have dropped my pool shift, but it's more difficult to weasel out of those because there are only two other girls who work the early mornings, and one of then was already scheduled. I know I have to work for the rest of my life, and for the most part I enjoy my jobs, but enough was enough. Work sucks. I planned on being productive but spent the time sleeping instead.

My car needed to be inspected at least two weeks ago, and still does. Also, my mom found out I walked at gradutation after all and that I didn't tell her. She wasn't happy.

I'm doing makeup for LuAnn Hampton Laverty Oberlander. I get to make one guy look sixty, fashion a mustache on another, and put Heather's wig on. It's pretty fun.

I got an ominous voicemail from my friend with whom I'm moving to New York, saying that he's having trouble finding a place. Which might mean that I may not be moving to New York. I don't really want to think about that or its alternatives right now.

I dropped the Theatre Practice course I was enrolled in because I was graduated, poor, and Ron said it was OK to work onthe show and not be enrolled. I found out later that I still had to pay seventy-five percent of the fees. I appealed and learned today that it was granted, so that's two hundred dollars that I don't have to pay for gluing hair to Jeremy's upper lip and putting Heather's wig on.

In a week's time, I've accumulated two more zucchini, two tomatoes, and two ears of corn. Now I'm debating founding a shelter in my house for wayward herbage. Either that, or having a dinner party.

Give me your turnips, your corn, your bundled asparagus yearning to be eaten; send these, the homeless salad-tossed, to me; I lift my fork beside the golden refrigerator door.