I didn't want to write too much about my heartbreak/break up/weirdness because I am trying not to dwell on it. And he could read it. But the damn thing is effecting me alot and at work too.
When it is slow and I am pacing or straightening shelves or folding napkins, I think about it. The thought that living closer may have made a difference eats away at me. I get intensely depressed when it seems that being poor and stuck could cost me happiness. My co-worker tries to console me with a story of her "Good thing, bad timing" romance, but it also depresses me because, when applied to me, I have no control over my crappy, simple, wage-slave life.
I want to run away. I was hatching a plan with some friends to move to a different city, but it seems the job scarcity issue could squelch that. So this is my life. I am the clerk: lean, poor, thrifty, and scrappy. I am surrounded by caricatures of consumers. My love might as well live on the moon.