poor, poor privileged me

My current temp assignment is almost as fantastic and fulfilling as the last. It's at a company where a lot of people do fun and exciting and creative things and make a lot of money and get to wear jeans. I am not one of those people.

To get to the area in which I "work," one must leave the colorful, modern lobby area through a set of doors, down a colorful and modern hall, through another set of doors, through another colorful and modern lobbyesque area, into the dingy library/archive room, all the way to the back corner and through an unmarked, locked door. This is where the finance and accounts payable magic happens. The computers are ancient and mismatched, everything is beige, and depending on which row of cubicles in which one is situated it smells strongly of cheap vanilla-scented hand lotion or stale popcorn. Everyone who works there is jovial and friendly. I am not one of those people, either.

My thought processes of today, other than "stop taking my financial reports out of the printer and putting them aside and out of order motherfuckers" can be summed up in an email I sent to E this morning:

the lady who normally uses my computer frequently visits the sites prisontalk.com and newyorkchildsupport.com and lovefellowship.com and she seemed chipper when she logged me onto the internet. if she can be happy with a babydaddy in prison, why can't i goddamnit??

Judging by the inspirational Bible quotes lining the walls of the young lady's cubicle, the answer, clearly, is Jesus. But I think I'm going to try the psychotropic medication method first. And perhaps, like, getting a job that doesn't totally blow chunks. (Yes, I have been saying I'm going to do both of those things for a long time, I know. Shut up.) Anywho, if that combo doesn't work, Jesus and I are going to have a nice long life together.