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Last day at Crap Temp Job.

There are many reasons why I'm on Cloud Nine. But that one's the biggest one today.

I took my lunch break and listened to my Dirty Thursday mix (which is all pop music that if under interrogation, I would deny ever possessing such things). Today is grey and colder and rainy, which normally would not put me in a pleasant mood, but today I just can't be sad. Too much possibility on the horizon. And because of all the nasty weather, Central Park was pretty deserted. The one perk of this job is that it's right on the southern tip of the park, and I always spend my entire lunch hour walking around. Central Park is the best gift the city has ever given its residents. And I even like it when it's grey like it is today. Makes the park look haunted. And you know how I love me some haunted stuff. The lost Bronte sister am I.

Today was not a walk around day. I literally skipped, pausing only to smoke a cigarette or yes indeedy, to take a dance break. A woman walking her dog saw me and chuckled to herself. Yes, I bet I look crazy, but you're the one holding a bag of shit in your hand. Who's crazy now, huh?

The nice thing about temping is that you meet a lot of different people. Today was this one temp's first day (she's taking over the floors I used to work) and it turns out she's a dance teacher and has a studio. She herself teaches Cunningham Modern. $10 a class. I'm there like a crack whore is in Bronx for her first fix of the day. Yay, affordable dance classes! And they have Pilates there, too.

Very giddy. If I didn't know better, I would think I was on drugs. Good ones, too.

Dirty Thursday was great. You know it's a good Dirty Thursday when you pass out before your friends leave.

[an imaginary conversation]

"Why, she just must be plumb-tuckered out from all that OC goodness. What a little angel. Let's just let her be."

end scene.

I'm sure they just stuck my hand in warm water, hoping I wet the bed. Silly kids, didn't you notice my rubber sheets? I always wet the bed.

That was a joke. I don't wet the bed. I swear.

[looks down in shame, curses her vagina]

See how giddy I am?

[wets cubicle]

I told you I don't wet the bed. Cubicles are a different matter entirely.

Four o'clock will roll around eventually and then I'm sooooo outta here. I don't even care if it rains on me, I'm toying with the idea of walking home. From 59th Street. Through the park. With my Dirty Thursday mix. Sounds good. Sentence fragments bad.

Me Carrie. Me Employed. Need Fire.