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Sixteen days until the move. We're barely half packed. It still seems really far away, and it's hard to motivate myself when it's 87 degrees in here.

One of the girls at work is having trouble. She's ten weeks pregnant and not doing well. So I've been covereing her shifts. Couple that with the fact that the last two weeks at the office have been rather hellish, what with hordes of patients who want everything done for them five minutes ago, and you find me exhausted and wanting to call out tonight so I can see the last episode of Deadliest Catch. But I won't. At least I'm scheduled for the front desk tonight, which is easier than working the phone lines or assisting the doctors.

I keep finding these things that remind me of my former life. Especially wrestling pictures. And I miss it. Sometimes I think I grew up too fast, and miss those two blissful years I had of being mature enough to do whatever I wanted when I wasn't at work, and being silly enough to spend that time exploring abandoned buildings, having sex, and learning a fake sport. I also miss not being disgustingly fat.

My journal entries are total downers.