at work they’ve taken to calling me rogue (from x-men), because of the blond streaks at the front of my hair.  today one of the managers changed my name in the computer from “ALISON” to “ROGUE”, so now, if you came into my restaurant and had me for a waitress, the top of your check would read “Dining Room — Rogue.”  i like it.

but when i threw silverware into the presoak today, some of it splashed back and hit me in the eye.  immediately, it began to burn, as though my eye was fizzing away like an alka-seltzer tablet.  cupping my hand over the left half of my face, i ran to the waitstation to ask chris to watch my tables while i went to flush out my eye.  i nearly threw up (i was already crying, sort of) when, after agreeing to help me, he speculated about the various types and sheer number of germs that were most likely sliding all over my eyeball.  with noxious tears squeezing out from underneath my closed lids, i headed for the bathroom to wash it out.  i stood at the sink, my contact in a bar glass on the counter next to me, frantically splashing water all over myself in an attempt to stop the stinging.  the customers in the bathroom sympathized with me while they waited for me to finish.  eventually the stinging stopped and i returned, bloodshot and mascara-smeared, to my tables.  rogue considers it some sort of cosmic revenge for her earlier moment of occupational contentment.

in general.  to paraphrase something james said yesterday, it’s not that things are bad or good, it’s just that they are.  to paraphrase a song my high-school boyfriend wrote, i’m so tired of everything; of everythi-ii-iing.