This post doesn't really have a lot of substance, so you're allowed to skip it.

When I got in my car this morning, it wouldn't start.

I love my old beamer, but one of its flaws is that is has this fuel pump switch that you turn on from the inside before you turn on the ignition. It's meant to be some sort of drag racing feature, I guess so that you can kill the engine in the event that the brakes won't work or the gas pedal sticks or for whatever reason. The guy who owned the car before me was a mechanic who tinkered with things a little, and this is just one of several quirks.

So at any rate, I'm always leaving this fuel pump switch on. It's silent, so I don't ever realize that I've neglected it, but it drains my battery, so that when I leave it on for a few hours or overnight, the car won't start the next time I want to drive it. It frustrates me like nothing else. I've become a pro at quickly and repeatedly jumping my car battery.

So I realized this morning that I had left the damn fuel pump switch on overnight. That, right there, fouled up my mood for most of the day. As fast as I've gotten with jumper cables lately, I only had about ten minutes before I was supposed to be at work which really wasn't enough time to move my brother in law's truck, jump the car, and get everything back in place before taking off. So my sister just gave me a ride to work. I was pretty grumpy, though I tried not to take that out on her.

I was relieved to make it to work on time. I've been late a lot recently and I'm trying to redeem myself. Unfortunately, just as the relief was kicking in, my boss informed me that the employee fridge/freezer had died overnight and that my job for the morning was going to be cleaning that out. Most mornings this would be no problem; I'm no stranger to dirty jobs. But it wasn't what I wanted to hear upon arrival at work today

The one good thing about this task was that I wouldn't have to talk to anyone else for a good few hours...

Jon wanted to go to lunch today. I did not feel like going to lunch or seeing Jon, just because I was in such a pissed off mood and because I looked like crap. I hadn't shaved, I still need a haircut, I have this disgusting and persistent breakout right now on my face, and to top it all off I smelled like the inside of a dairy fridge (my next project after cleaning the employee fridge was pricing milk and butter)

I just felt like hell. And I looked like hell, and that made me feel even more like hell. I wanted to come up with some BS reason for why I didn't want to go, but couldn't think about one that wasn't just an outright lie (I did consider lying...) that Jon wouldn't shoot down. So I bucked up and went to lunch. I figure if I'm going to be in any type of serious relationship with anyone, they're going to have to see me on days like this so they can get a feel for what a complete mess I can be.

I didn't say anything to Jon about my ill state when he picked me up. I just tried to make small talk and make the best of our thirty minutes. We went to Quizno's. The line was long. I spent like 10 bucks because when I have feelings I eat them -- giant sandwich, bag of sunchips, apple juice, double chocolate chip cookie. Some of you anorexic people who do the opposite need to tell me how you swing that. I didn't end up eating a lot (although I assure you I would have given the chance) because by the time we got our food my break was about up.

Jon gained some major points for still being excited to see me and/or be around me when I'm like this. Nothing was said about it, though I felt extremely self-conscious and just outright embarrassed. Jon looked and smelled great (he always does) was clean shaven, and though tired, wasn't in a bad mood at all.

So he passed what in my mind was a good test. Worse is yet to come, I'm sure, but he's doing good.

I still need a little boost of self-esteem though sometime soon. I need to actually start running for this half marathon thing in March. I haven't exercised in weeks and maybe that will make me feel better. Now I'm just rambling. Nay-nay to rambling. I'm done.