Well,

I'm not really sure how to go about this. Dive in naked and honest, I guess?

I don't know how there are so many blogs with intricate writing, a strong, moral lesson and an exciting story from each and every day. I often feel like I live the same life, day in and day out. Actually, I always feel that way. I feel as though I spend the good portions of my days, at work, earning money so that I can afford to do fun and interesting things with my friends and family. The irony is, I work so much that there is hardly time for any entertainment or adventure extending past the virtual world of Facebook, Bing, Wikipedia, YouTube, Tumblr and the new addition, Blogger. (I'm really branching out. When I first took this manager position, the little free time I had I spent solely on searching obscure parts of the world. One morning I spent learning about the different types of stinkhorn mushrooms -- in detail.)

My entire lifetime,I've dreaded turning eighteen. The American rite of "responsibility" (though many, well past this milestone, lack it). I hate the idea and necessity of credit. I hate literally everything about money. I hate that anyone and everyone, has to work to earn paper that allows them a certain amount of goods; be they as vital as water, shelter and food, to any and all materialistic wants. It dawned on me not long ago (no, really, like a few hours ago) that despite my Peter Pan complex, I started working the day after my sixteenth birthday. I had crappy jobs before then, too (custodial). I've given myself this strange ultimatum, only forced upon myself by myself, that I MUST have a job at all times. the longest I've been unemployed since then was a month and a half. I now work nearly full time although I have a family I can depend on for my needs. Talk about facing fear head on, right?

I must say I do regret not continuing my education. It's never too late, I plan to try as soon as I get a car (very stupid situation, being nearly twenty and having never had a mode of personal transportation). I'm thinking majoring in marketing, minoring in English, and going to art school. Or something. A routine job, without making an impact on the world (other than in the CEO's bank account) is hardly satisfying. Although I love it where I work, I don't want to spend my whole life making sure I lead my $7.50-an-hour team into an otherwise unrewarding working frenzy. It's cynical, really.

I may ramble, but that's part of my thought process.
Earlier, leaving the grocery store, from the time I walked through the automatic doors to the car (parking distance being what one would call a 'good spot') my mind had traveled, somehow, from R. Kelly to how strange it is that humans don't have tails. I'm not the only one to have that same thought, either; boyfriend confirms he has also.

Let's wrap up this burrito then?