So, working at Starbucks is killing my writing. Not that I was doing a ton of that anyway, but I'm a night owl, and my writing-brain usually turns on between 7:30 and 9, which is prime bed-time for me now.
Which is not to say that I don't love my job, because I do. I work with only nice people (for the first time in my life - and I'm not exaggerating - literally, ONLY nice people. Awesome!) I have benefits. It's tough supporting both myself and Husband on near-minimum-wage, but with food stamps (so great) and a little help from the parents, we're doing ok while he continues his job search.
Obviously, this post isn't about any of this.
The title comes from an REM song that I like. It's not my favorite, but when the day arrives that I can't think of an REM song that's at least mildly related to the topic at hand, I might as well just stop living. I like REM, is my point. Also, the lead singer from REM looks a bit like a bald, sad Ewan McGregor, which is a fact that the world must acknowledge.
That's still not what this was meant to be about. I suck at this blog crap.
Well, to be honest, I'm dancing around this because I'm at a weird crossroads and there's religious and personal and bitter and scary stuff all tied up in it, so I'm avoiding talking about it.
I've decided to leave the WELS, the church body that I was raised in.
