#and i wont even know what they mean until tomorrow at the earliest

[thegeekyartist]

I haven't napped this much since I was on antidepressants

[mollydollyjournals]

I survived the supermarket. So sleepy now though. I'm supposed to stay up for at least 2 more hours but I wanna go to sleep like now...ugh.

I had salad when I got home. And I used up the last of the ingredient that's most difficult to find...I wanna make my own but I havent figured out a recipe yet and I usually have that for breakfast. I might have breakfast late tomorrow so I can go to the shop for the last bit I'd need. Just so irritating i didnt realise i was that close to running out before i went to the supermarket and i didnt think to get that anyway and blah. My brain is mush.

So I had a walk around the supermarket which is as much as I'd have been able to manage today. I feel like my insides are tying themselves in knots. I hate periods.

850kcal today which is okay. "Proper" restriction will have me passing out or whatever but I kind of dont want to eat a normal amount either... i think 600-1000 seems to be my comfort spot right now. It feels like I've stuck to that kind of level for a little longer recently and I'm trying to figure out why. I had a really bad overeating phase recently so maybe my body hasn't yet adjusted to the fact I'm undereating? Maybe it's because my mood has been so shitty? Idk.

I have been a little bit more stable today. Still bad. But like I had 10% instead of 3% and I was able to just claw myself up a little. I got a fresh hair tie, which is one of my favourite feelings in the world idk why. I have a thing about my hair and it feels really uncomfortable when its tied up but come loose. I feel fresher when it's done properly. And I just looked at pictures of stuff I wanna make that I probably wont get round to, at least not for a long time, but it's nice to think about it I guess. I feel like I did something else as a small self comfort thing but I dont remember what. My brain is mush.

So I'm kind of...slightly less on edge I guess. I still feel terrible, but just slightly less so that I could try to make myself feel better. I've done my 3 days without alcohol as well. 4 actual days, but 3 days by my body clock. So I can drink tomorrow if I want to...I'll see how I feel. If I dont drink tomorrow then itll be Saturday at the earliest and I doubt I'll get that far without horrible headaches and everything else. Idk.

Just now I weighed 158.8 which is kind of annoying because if I'm still about that much before bed, I'll be the same tomorrow as I was today, if not more. I know fluctuations and all...but I'm eating significantly less than I was this time a week ago and I've only lost such a small amount I could easily gain it back in a day or two. It just makes me irritated and worried. I hate the feeling that I'm not getting the reward for the work I do. It makes me not want to try, and then i feel guilty for not trying, so then I try again but I feel cheated when I dont get anywhere, etc etc. Ideally I need to stick with this until at least Monday to be able to see if I'm getting somewhere. My goal weight for then is 152, but I'd consider 154 or below a success. I mean I guess technically even 155 would still be something, but yeah...so I really really hope I have some water weight to drop.

I had to go do something so now it's actually 1h20 until I'm supposed to sleep. That could be doable...I think. I hope. Not the end of the world if I dont, but frustrating. More important that i get enough sleep wherever i can and just try to maintain some energy.

I did promise myself if I dont get anywhere after a while of restricting like this, I'll try something else. I need to not freak out and binge (on either food or alcohol). Its so hard though. When I feel like my body wont cooperate whether I try or not. And I'm not always the most patient person in the world. Bleh

[vagrantblvrd]

Bird on a Wire (1/1)

Summary: If he thought he could get away with it, Gavin would just steal a plane and damn well fly back to Los Santos.

Notes: Anon wanted myan or freewood in the FAHC AU with “trust me on this. please.”

AO3

If he thought he could get away with it, Gavin would just steal a plane and damn well fly back to Los Santos.

Unfortunately, the Fakes have a heist planned at the end of the week and the delicate nature of the heist in question necessitates them staying under the radar until everything's in place, which -

“Geoff, Geoff,” Gavin says, all cheerful and carefree as Geoff has a bit of a shit fit all the way back in Los Santos, halfway across the country from Gavin. “I'll be there in time. This is...just a little setback. Clear skies and all that once things are seen to here.”

Metaphorically, at least, because it's not enough that Gavin's flight was delayed by weather before takeoff earlier that morning, no. There was some form of engine trouble that forced the pilot to reroute to an airport in the way of a monster storm that looks as though it's going to ground all flights until sometime tomorrow afternoon at the earliest.

On the other end of the line Geoff's quiet. Months of planning for the heist teetering on the cusp of falling apart thanks to Gavin's travel woes.

“I'm going to kill Burnie,” Geoff says finally, the way most people comment about the weather. “I'm really going to do it this time.”

Gavin laughs, leaning his forehead against the cool glass of the window looking out over the runway. Ground crews bustling around the planes parked near the terminal, work lights illuminating the area. It's closing in on midnight where he is and he's exhausted. Feels tired and wrung out and wants nothing more than to be back in Los Santos.

He presses his phone against his ear and to better hear snatches of noise aside from Geoff's quiet breathing. Faint yelling interspersed with laughter. Loud and raucous and Gavin's hit with a sudden wave of homesickness because he's been helping out Burnie and the Roosters for a few weeks now.

Away from Los Santos and the city that's gone and dug its claws in deep, people he's come to call family that he misses with an almost physical ache.

“You always say that,” Gavin points out, because Geoff does.

Mutters darkly to himself whenever Burnie calls them up, this certain tone to his voice when he needs the glitz and glamour of the Fake AH Crew's Golden Boy or someone with Ray's skill with a sniper rifle. Michael's deft touch when it comes to demolitions, Jack's sheer brilliance behind the wheel of a car or the in the pilot's seat of any kind of aircraft imaginable.

All the way down the line until Geoff grumps and grumbles and has so clearly had enough of Burnie trying to steal his people away the way he does from time to time, little bit of a smirk on his face at the way it riles Geoff up, ruffles his feathers just so.

Geoff seeing right through Burnie's little games – this push and pull they have because they're both assholes – and the rest of them caught up in this bizarre little flirting ritual of theirs.

“Yeah, well,” Geoff sighs, tired and exasperated and fretting over the heist like he's wont to do at times. “I'm fucking serious this time.”

Gavin grins, because of course he is.

“Look, Geoff,” Gavin says, eyes drawn to movement behind him in the window's reflection. “If it comes down to it, I'll get a car and drive back. Pleasant little road trip and all.”

Geoff snorts,  and Gavin's shoulder come down the slightest bit.

“Five days, asshole,” Geoff reminds him, as though Gavin's somehow forgotten.

“You worry too much, Geoff,” Gavin says, something fond in it as he tracks a pair of figures, broad-shouldered bastards doing a terrible job of blending in.

There's a long moment of silence, and then Geoff sighs. ”Yeah, well you never worry enough, asshole.”

Geoff's not wrong about that one, is he?

Still.

“Five days,” Gavin says, a promise and acknowledgment all in one and finally, finally Geoff seems to believe him, or maybe it's the fact that the yelling on Geoff's end has gotten a bit more...exuberant.

“If you're late, we're splitting your cut of the take.”

Gavin rolls his eyes, turning to get a better look at the figures he's been watching. Something not quite right to them that's tripped the warning bells in his head, have him taking notice when they head over t the ticket counter to speak to the woman behind it.

“I've got to go, Geoff. Looks like they're about to make an announcement.”

There's a little pause, Geoff picking up on the tension in Gavin's voice or something else, and then, “Be careful, dickhead.”

“You too, Geoffrey,” Gavin says, listens to Geoff's quiet laugh before he hangs up.

Slips his phone into his pocket and wanders along the row of windows. Ostensibly watching the goings on outside while keeping an eye on the men surreptitiously searching for something, someone.

Paranoia finely honed after a lifetime of ducking people bigger, meaner, than him who'd love to see him dead. Some annoying bug who somehow manages to slip through their grip time and again, cheeky little grin and jaunty salute and it's rarely steered him wrong in the past.

Has him keeping just outside their periphery, uneasy about being on his own like this, too much time spent running with a crew. People he can rely on to be there covering his back, give him the freedom to focus on what's in front of him without leaving himself vulnerable.

But his crew is thousands of miles away and Gavin has the sinking feeling all the delays, mechanical troubles may not have been, strictly speaking, on the up and up.

The overhead comes on, ticket agents making an announcement or other that Gavin doesn't hear because one of the bruisers happens to turn around and looks right at him.

Eyes narrowing as he starts toward Gavin, something predatory in his gait and that uneasy feeling Gavin's had since spotting the man and his friend intensifies. Turns into this sharp flare in his chest that has him looking for an exit, surrounded by people who are tired and grumpy after sitting around for hours waiting for news about their flight. Groups of them making their way to the ticket counter and refusing to give ground when he tries to slip by them. Put some space between Gain and the bruisers, find a way out of whatever mess he's managed to land himself in this time.

He's uttering apologies and tossing out little smiles here and there as he steps around, past people. Gets tangled up in knot of people at the edge of the crowd thanks to a little old lady with her lapdog in a carrier blocking his way. An arrogant businessman in a three-piece suit who looks down his nose at Gavin in his old hoodie and jeans, scuffed sneakers and the battered messenger bag slung over his shoulder. (Illicit goodies inside because money talks if you know the right people.)

A dozen others who look at Gavin and the sense of urgency quickly taking hold of him, but don't bloody budge.

He hears someone's voice, loud, triumphant and sees the bruiser signaling his friend, eyes locked on Gavin as he pushes his way towards him.

“Christ,” Gavin says, hand tightening around the strap of his bag because he can't start a shootout in a damn airport, not with so many civilians around. (Not without anyone to watch his back if he wants to make it out alive.)

Fingers wrap around the wrist of his other hand, tugging firmly, insistently, and when Gavin looks to see who it is, finds himself looking into blue, blue eyes set in a nice enough face.

So damn amused about something with a hint of a smirk playing about his mouth as he shoulders the people around them aside, pulling Gavin with him.

Gavin allows it because the man's leading Gavin away from the bruisers. Is putting the crowd between them, and buying Gavin the time he wanted, needed. Is, it seems, taking him down the corridor where the lights have been dimmed in deference of the late hour, people hoping to get what sleep they can.

“Not that I don't appreciate this,” Gavin says, tripping over someone's carry-on and stumbling into his (alleged) rescuer's back. “But I don't believe we've met?”

Gavin's (alleged) rescuer looks over his shoulder at him, and something about it – the way the light hits his face, stray strands of hair escaping the neat little bun he's got it in – hit Gavin as oddly, strangely, familiar.

“Are you sure about that?” the man asks, purrs, and Gavin's heart does this ridiculously stupid stutter-skip-stop thing in his chest.

“You,” Gavin breathes, feeling like some character out of a period romance novel as he stares stupidly.

Realizes that while he hasn't seen the man's face until now, he should have recognized the bastard the moment he saw those damn eyes of his. (Always so amused about something.)

The Vagabond grins at him, looking less like the bastard who loves to make Gavin's life a misery and more like some scruffy douchebag hipster out trying to “find himself” on a trip around the world.

“As much as I'd love to catch up with you,” he says, eyes ticking over Gavin's shoulder to the commotion taking place behind him. “I really don't think now is the time for that, do you?”

Gavin's eyes narrow, and he takes a step back. Feels the Vagabond's hold on his wrist tighten briefly before he releases Gavin, lets him go.

“Well, I mean,” Gavin says, “we didn't exactly part on good terms the last time around, now did we?”

And now there are people following him, odds extremely slim that it's for a good purpose when he's separated from his crew and in unknown territory. Hardly ideal, really, and even more unlikely that the Vagabond would just happen to be here as well in some kind of bizarre coincidence.

“Look,” the Vagabond says, sounding a bit sheepish as he rubs the back of his neck. “There might have been some misunderstandings - “

Gavin takes a step, two, forward so fast the Vagabond stumbles back a step, stares at Gavin with wide eyes as he jabs him in the chest.

“'Misunderstandings'?” Gavin hisses. “You shot me! You call that a misunderstanding?”

The Vagabond holds his hands up placatingly, looking of all things surprised that Gavin's not exactly thrilled about that part.

“Just a little! Flesh wound, really,” he says, and keeps looking over Gavin's shoulder to where the commotion is getting louder. Going from loud and confused to loud and angry. “And I'm very sorry about that, I swear.”

Gavin eyes the Vagabond, who stands there watching Gavin.

“Really.”

The Vagabond huffs, wry twist to his lips as he  glances to the side, eyes lifting to meet Gavin's after a moment.

“I may not have made the best decisions the last time we met,” he says which is just a bit of an understatement, “but I need you to trust me on this when I tell you I'm not your enemy.”

Gavin cocks his head, instinct and that bit of paranoia telling him that that would be a terrible idea on Gavin's part. That the last time he did trust the bastard he ended up shot and bleeding down in the subway tunnels under Los Santos. Police closing in, and the Vagabond plucking files Gavin had spent weeks and a good chunk of money and burned favors to get before disappearing on him.

His traitorous heart, however -

“Please, Gavin,” and it's not the Vagabond asking this time, it's Ryan. (There's very little Gavin's ever been able to deny him.)

Gavin sighs, hopes he won't regret this as he reaches out to Ryan, extends him the trust he's asking for because Gavin can't do anything else. Knows Michael and the others will never let him live it down if this all blows up in his face.

Ryan looks back at him and smiles, small and uncertain, and Gavin feels his heart do that odd little maneuver again.

God's sake, he really is an idiot, isn't he?

"As long as you don't shoot me again," Gavin says, and isn't at all surprise when Ryan laughs.

Gives him this little smirk, so damn amused and says, "I'll do my best not to, but no promises."

And really, given the way things go for him with someone like Ryan involved, that's all Gavin can ask for.

Liminal

[sasha-whos-askin-racket]

For the third part: Becker/Jess 12. "Let's get married!"

(I don’t know why Emily seems quite modern here, but she just is for some reason.)

Matt tensed instinctively, but his eyes remained trained on the floor. “T-That was Emily,” he said quietly, and in a split-second, Becker had turned on his heel and sprinted down the corridor.“Abby, with me. Connor, stay here and watch that little freak.” Matt said, before turning and following his friend.Abby glanced at Connor over her shoulder, and then walked after Matt.

Connor glanced down at Ethan, no, Patrick, who was sat leaning against the wall, and eventually spoke. “You know what?”Patrick looked up at him, brown eyes slightly softening. “What?”“I think, that if your brother could see you now, he’d be really disappointed in you.”Patrick gave a quiet hum of agreement. “You know, maybe he’s not quite as bad as I thought.”The boy’s eyes widened suddenly, and he scrambled to his feet. “Not as bad as I thought…That-That’s it.” And then he too was off down the corridor.Connor stared dumbly at the space where Patrick had been standing, before calling. “Hey! Wait up!” and chasing after him.

Becker was shoved into the wall, winding him.He blinked to clear his vision and found he was level with Matt’s wide hazel eyes.“Get a grip Becker.” The Irishman hissed. “You go in there all worked up and all you’re going to do is scare Emily. Calm down, compose yourself, take a breath, count to ten, do whatever you gotta do, and then go in there. Alright? Just breathe. You’re no good to anybody in this state, especially not Jess.”Becker nodded breathlessly, and tipped his head back until it was touching the wall, his brown eyes looking up at the cracked ceiling as though it held all the secrets of the universe, the feel of Matt’s hands heavy on his shoulders.He nodded again. “Alright. I’m okay.” he sighed, taking a deep breath. “I’m okay,” he said again, more to convince himself than Matt.The hands left his shoulders, and he straightened up, stepping over the threshold into the room.He’d anticipated what the sight before him would have been, but it still hadn’t exactly managed to prepare him.

Emily, sitting with her back to him, cross-legged, her head bowed so her curtain of brown hair hung in loose ringlets over her face, her shoulders shaking quietly.The room was nearly silent, so the whispered words of comfort she was providing sounded like the tolling of a church bell to Becker’s ears, as they had been tuned to the slightest of sounds by military precision.“Shhh. It’s okay. Jess. Jess, you’re going to be fine. Come on, just give me a smile, alright? Calm down… You know how much Becker loves you; he’s not going to let anything happen to you, I promise. This’ll all be over soon, and you’ll wake up in your own apartment and all of this will just seem like a bad, bad dream.”

He could just see Jess behind her, the field-coordinators head resting in the Victorian’s lap, her blue eyes focused on Emily’s face, their hands intertwined and sprawled haphazardly across Jess’s stomach.Jess said something, something that Becker couldn’t quite hear, but Emily laughed, a broken laugh, a laugh mixed with barely choked back tears and a weak smile.Jess reached up, and tucked a strand of Emily’s hair back behind the Victorian’s ear, the movement deliberate and careful.Emily brought her hand up to Jess’s and laced their fingers together, dragging their hand down until it rested on Emily’s knee.

Patrick practically burst in through the doorway, hitting his shoulder on the old wooden frame and causing it to shudder.Becker turned to face the sound, and suddenly Connor skidded to an untidy stop, the soles of his trainers kicking up a cloud of dust as he braced himself and tried to stay on his feet.“Sorry,” Connor panted. “He…He’s really fast.”“Don’t worry.” Becker remarked gruffly, knowing full well that Connor’s athletic prowess was somewhat lacking. “Anyway, what’s he want?”Becker seemed slightly more accommodating towards Ethan having learnt that he was actually Danny’s little brother; the exact brother whom had been presumed dead for the past sixteen years.

The more Becker watched him, the more similarities he noticed between the two.They had the same vaguely wild look in their eyes, the corner of their mouth pulled up to the side the same way when they smiled; and they even stood the same - one hand half in a pocket, the other fiddling with the hem of their jacket, right foot turned outwards with the leg bent slightly at the knee as they put more weight on their left side, head titled slightly forwards.

Patrick smiled, the smile that looked so unnatural on his face because it was Danny’s smile.“I just remembered something. Hand me your EMD?”Becker raised an eyebrow. “Absolutely not.”Patrick rolled his eyes. “Alright, Matt, hand me yours, I’m certain you’ll find this interesting.”

Fully aware that Becker was watching him, Matt reached to his waist and pulled out his EMD, extending it out towards Patrick.Patrick pulled out the one he used, and held them up next to each other, looking straight at Matt. “You see the difference, my friend?”Matt’s hazel eyes widened slightly, and a smile appeared on his face as he pointed to the one Patrick was holding in his right hand. “That…That’s the prototype. The one that accommodates for accidental misfires?”Patrick nodded, “Yeah. The very same. With a few modifications, of course.”Matt grinned, and turned to Becker. “You know what this means? No, no of course you don’t- Wait, modifications? What kind of modifications?”“Oh, nothing major. Just a few of the most basic effects of the gun wear off slower, and I changed the morality rate a little bit, but nothing super destructive.”

Becker glanced between the two men. “Would you two like to stop geeking out and explain what’s going on?”Matt nodded. “Ethan somehow got hold of the original version of the EMD, the first one I ever made. There were a few… how to put this…restrictions, that I’d put in place to try and stop any deaths in the case of misfires.”“Which means?”“Which means-” Patrick continued “-That when the barrel of the gun comes into contact with human skin, the effects of the blasts are somewhat diminished, making it more likely that the subject will survive the shot.”“It’s a 50/50 chance, isn’t it mate?” Asked Matt.Patrick shook his head. “No, that was one of the modifications. I didn’t intend to be firing at any humans, so I dropped the survival rate to 40%.”Matt shrugged. “Not ideal, but still a better chance than she would have had normally.”He turned to Becker. “This is great news, I don’t see why you aren’t happier about this.”Becker shrugged. “I don’t really understand it.”Matt rolled his eyes. “Jess is going to be okay. She’s not going to die, she’ll be no worse for wear than you after Ethan shot you last week.”“Well…”Matt sighed. “I know. I know. Height, weight differentiation and all that. Wait… You modified the symptoms, right?”“Er..” Patrick looked vaguely sheepish. “Well, I mean, your instructions weren’t very clear, so I was kinda flying blind on the whole, you know, changing the settings and, trying not to kill anything, and I made a few mistakes, but managed to test it out on a few people while travelling through gateways.”“And…?”

Patrick began to pace, his hand clenching and unclenching in his pocket.“She’ll lose consciousness again in a moment, that’s completely normal, her body’s trying to adjust because it can’t deal with the information being suddenly presented to it. She’s a small girl, so it’s a lot for her body to cope with. She’ll regain consciousness a few hours from now-” He turned on the spot, and then began to pace in the other direction, rubbing his hands together nervously, not meeting Becker’s eyes. “-But there’s a small chance she’ll be mildly delirious.  Worst case scenario is that she possibly wont know where she is, or recognise anybody. Best case, is that she’ll babble on about nothing to you for hours on end. If that occurs, it should begin to subside in a few hours, and she’ll be back to normal - if a bit subdued and sore - by this time tomorrow, at the earliest.”

Becker nodded, though he still looked slightly displeased. “Alright. I’ll be staying with Jess tonight then. And you-”He turned to Patrick. “Why are you helping us?”Patrick glanced over at Connor, smiling sheepishly. “Something your friend said about my brother made me realise a few things.”Becker sighed. “Okay, well…I want you to go through the first anomaly you find. Your brother’s not here, he’s lost in time somewhere.”Patrick nodded, and then turned and strode away, vanishing into thin-air in the same unnatural way that Helen used to.

X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X

Becker sat on the bar stool in Jess’s kitchen, a mug of rapidly cooling black coffee held tightly in his hands as he carefully studied the Jess-sized lump curled up on her sofa.He had originally unwrapped her threaded Disney blanket that she normally used as a balance for her wobbly coffee table and thrown it over her, but after he’d made a cup of coffee and come back to find that she’d sweated right through it, he’d tucked his jacket around her shoulders instead, and that was how she was lying now; facing him, his black jacket covering her upper-body, her hair falling across her pale face, her expression pained, as though she was dreaming of being pricked by a pin.And Becker sat, watching her, almost studying her, memorising every line on her face, since he knew in his heart of hearts that she’d never look so vulnerable in front of him again.She shifted slightly, and his jacket slipped off her body, landing with a soft thump on the floor.

Becker stood, and placing his mug on the desk next to him, carefully stepped across the room.He reached the sofa, bent down, picked up his jacket, shook it out as though trying to get off any dust and then draped it back over Jess, kneeling down in front of her as he fiddled with the zip of his jacket so it didn’t stick into her, a soft smile gracing his face as he tugged the dark fabric around her slender frame, resisting the urge to lean forwards and kiss her forehead.

He settled instead for smoothing down her hair with a vaguely shaking hand, and the second he touched her, her blue eyes flickered open, and she swallowed thickly.Becker instinctively recoiled, hoping the darkness of her living room hid the blush creeping up his usually place face.“B-Becker? Is that you?”He swallowed back his smile, and tried to keep his voice neutral as he spoke. “Yeah,” Jess closed her eyes again, sighing deeply. “Wh-Where are we?”“Your apartment.”She opened one eye, glancing up at him and then around the room. “Are we?”“Uh, yeah. Do you want to sit up?”“Sure.” She pushed herself up gently, Becker holding her gently by the hands.

She smiled at him, and Becker noticed she look vaguely dazed, gazing around her in pleasant surprise.She giggled suddenly, and Becker almost gave a sigh of exasperation, “What?” he asked her.She turned to him. “Oh, nothing.” and then she drew her legs up to her body. “Have you ever thought about how weird spiders are?”Becker sighed. “Oh, I should have let Emily come look after you instead.”“No, seriously. I mean. they’re so weird. They have eight legs. Why do they need eight legs? Imagine if we had eight legs. Hey Becker, imagine Lester with eight legs.” She giggled again. “Are you listening to me Becker? I don’t think you are. Spiders are kinda freaky, but they’re better than insects. I don’t like insects. Did you know insects can bite? I did. Hey Becker? Would it be weird if I said that I thought you were kinda cute?”“Yes.”Jess continued as if she hadn’t heard him. “Because you are. You’re cute when you wrinkle your nose when Connor does something stupid. And you’re cute when you do that thing with your eyebrows when Matt annoys you. And you’ve got nice hair. I think I love you. Is that weird? I think we should get married. Let’s get married. Can we get married?”He turned to glance at her. “We’ll see if you still feel like it in the morning.”“Okay. I’ll still want to get married to you then. Because we’re in love.”

Becker sighed, leaning back on the sofa, closing his eyes and letting Jess’s excited babble wash over him like an ocean wave.Boy, this sure would be a long night.

[ploonets]

so im like actually ready to quit my job soon lmao yesterday was just really frazzling for me for some reason? like this lady came in w a 5 gal of light gray that she said looked blue so i explained that retinting is hard to do and we dont know what itll look like but i could try to get it to the darker gray down and even tho she was missing like a gallon of paint (who tf paints 2 whole walls and decides the color isnt right??? why did she buy 5 whole gallons of it?? WHY WAS IT SEMI GLOSS) and she was like ok and i got pretty damn close, probs a little darker but it wasnt blue! but she was all “oh that looks like puke i dont like that color” and im like ok well i dont wanna tint it much more unless u make a decision to what color you want it close to and she just would not make any decisions!! and she kept saying “it looks too blue in my house I want a light gray” like i know lady but what do u want me to do about it!! and after a bunch of really weird back and forth i just said “my manager will be in tomorrow he probably would have a better plan than i do bc at this point im not gonna retint it anymore unless u make a decision so u could get some sample colors and try those out on your wall and i can give u a discount but like thats ur options” and for some reason the idea of speaking to the manager made her really happy like ok?? 

but yeah now im just like hoping i didnt do anything wrong and that my manager wont be mad at me like i doubt it but also that was only the 2nd time ive ever retinted something so who knows

and yeah im just ready to quit even tho i make p ok money there like its just too stressful for a part time job sometimes and i mean even if i stayed i probably couldnt work until at earliest feb if i get top surgery done over break