#or nice but overly chatty coworkers

[magpie-to-the-morning]

The Covid lockdown proved that nearly all office work can be done remotely, so now being made to be physically present is like “… really? We’re back to pretending this is necessary?” And it’s a lot harder to stomach.

[fandomwritingbit]

You like him.

Henry Emily x (f)reader (employee)

Synop: You start to develop a crush on your overly nice and professional boss and can't tell if he feels the same way. So you have to ask.

Warnings: bad language, inappropriate relationship (boss/employee) William being a twat, Henry being lovely. Reader is outspoken and sarky.

A/n: I had/still have no idea where this is going, it's just a little thought I had, that I think I'm keep going with. Hope it's okay.

William wouldn’t be surprised by this. William wouldn’t be thanking god for sending you his way, he’d be thanking himself. William is entitled to this kind of thing after all, but Henry just isn’t.

He can’t seem to understand why you’d ever want him. He’s twice your age, he’s quiet and boring and you’re so not. You’re funny, probably one of the funniest people he’s ever met, always cracking jokes and sliding snide comments about customers his way, somehow able to switch between the bubbly customer service personality and your real sarcastic self, faster than the snap of fingers.

A small smile is alway on his face when you’re around. Making him grin to himself as he listens to you repeating an order back to yourself at the kiosk, “Three pepsi max, one normal pepsi. A fucking jug of mineral water. Two peroni, one with lime because they have no taste. Cordial: one blackcurrant, one orange… God,  want me to wax your car for you too? Help you file tax returns? Knobheads.” He chuckles, immediately losing count of the cash he was sorting as soon as you started talking. 

You smirk at him, that cheeky, utterly charming smirk that saved just for colleagues. “Sorry. They just couldn’t wait for me to get my notepad, nah they needed drinks right fucking now.” You punctuate your swearing by hitting the tab button on the till, the drawer opening with a loud clunk.

“Well it's been nearly 10 seconds since they sat down. You should know better.” He replies equally as sarcastically, his heavy brow raising and moving his glasses slightly. He was never the type to make fun of customers, especially while on the floor, but he can’t help but joke along with you, it’s just irresistible. 

“Yeah, we should have remembered their order from last time and all. Very unprofessional.” You continue, now moving to grab a handful of menus for a table that was coming in through the door, your face set straight until they walk towards you and suddenly you’re wearing a bright service smile. “Hey there. Have we got a reservation today?” 

~

You’re chatty with all your coworkers, trying to make the shifts somewhat fun just so they go that bit quicker, but you save a little extra camaraderie for your boss, Mr Emily. You can’t help it. His quiet and sensible personality just makes you want to make him laugh, humanise him a bit. At first he was so professional that he’d flush at your comments, thinking you were being serious but it soon became a wink-wink nudge-nudge situation. It amuses you how hard he has to try to be pissy, he’s just too nice. Kind and calm always, very much unlike his co-owner.

Yeah… you like him.   

Well, fancy him more like. And you’re not ashamed or embarrassed by it, he’s a handsome man, but you worry that you’ll never really have a shot, because it’s inappropriate afterall. At least the joking and flirting is fun. 

~

The two owners of the diner walk towards the back together, well, as close together as possible what with William’s stride that always seems to leave Henry a step and a half behind. He was so used to having a conversation with William’s shoulder that it didn’t really bother him anymore. 

“It was a great night last night.” The man in the lead says, an avaricious grin on his face. Great doesn’t cover the absolute beauty of the accounts that he’d been going over all morning. 

“Home or work?” Henry asks, completely lost to what William was even talking about. 

He glances back, clearly amused, “Never home, Henry.” He’s only half joking, William is the only person who could put someone off a married family life, likening it to jail, which out of the two of them Will certainly knew more about. 

“My mistake.” He shakes his head, knowing that his disapproval just tickled William more. “What, we did well then, last night?” He asks, continuing to push for context. 

William stops walking right before the door to the staff rest area, forcing Henry to halt too whilst the  other brings his head down to get closer to his eye-line. “Well doesn’t touch the sweet bit of turnover we did, had me hard as a rock doing the books earlier.” He snickers, god, annoying Henry just never gets old to him. 

Henry winces, he’d forgotten how gross William could be when he was in a good mood. He settles on just dryly saying “Nice.” not wanting to give his partner the reaction he was hoping for. 

Still sniggering, William pushes the door open and holds it behind him for Henry. You’re in the staff area, standing in front of your locker as you quickly change your shirt, the toilet was occupied and you’re already late, so exhibitionism it had to be. The shirt is halfway over your head when the door opens, you glance at who's coming in but don’t react, just continuing the action you’re in the middle of. 

“Speaking of.” William grins, nudging Henry in an immature way to really hammer that inappropriate comment home. Inappropriate should be his middle name because as he walks past to head towards his office, he wolf-whistles at you, the crisp sound making you turn. You just laugh, you’ve been here long enough now to know your bosses well and you know that he’s just kidding around. Well, mostly. 

“I’ll be a second.” Henry says to William as he goes to enter his office and he waves him off in response. 

He gives you some space, turning away until he can no longer hear the sound of fabric rustling, confirming to him that you’ve finished getting changed. 

You’re smiling the whole time you finish the action, it’s sweet of him to look away. “You alright?” You ask your boss, brushing down your trousers , now fully ready to slay some service. 

He smiles back at you a little shy, mentally reprimanding himself for the heat on his face at seeing you changing. It’s nothing, other people do it, but other people turn around… he’s glad you didn’t but the flush to his cheeks makes him feel like a silly little kid. “Yeah, not too bad. You?” 

“Keeping on, you know.” You reply, “You want to talk to me?” You then ask, a tone to your voice that mockingly says ‘what have I done, now?’. 

He grins, “I uh just wanted to say that if you ever need to change - and the bathroom is busy - you can use my office. Provided I’m not in there, of course!” You giggle, you can’t help it, that fact that he’s this flustered is as amusing as it is nice. 

God, sometimes he hates himself. “I just wouldn’t want you to feel uncomfortable. You know-” He claws back his nerves, nodding towards William’s now closed office door. 

You understand what he’s getting at, “Oh. Your man doesn’t make me uncomfortable. If anything it’s a bit of a boost for me before I get on the floor.” You’re joking, he knows you are, but it still gives him a pang of jealousy, as much as he decides to suppress it. “But that’s really nice of you to offer, I appreciate it.” 

“It’s alright. Feel free to.”

You’re not sure why, but the impulse to try something flickers in your mind. To try your luck, see how he would react to you being more forward. You assume he knows that you like him, but maybe he doubts it, so why not be a little more obvious. “It does pose the question…” He looks at you, the look on your face is a little bit sly, your eyes narrowed in observation. “What if I came in to change and you were in your office?” 

The question hangs in the air for a few moments before awkwardness obligates him to respond, he chuckles, again finding his face hot. “Well, uh. That would be up to you.” The second he says that he panics, you’re evidently amused but that doesn’t prevent the instant embarrassment. “- That sounded creepy. I didn’t mean it like that-”

You giggle, leaning a little closer to him, “It’s alright, I was leading you there. Don’t worry.” Your eyes soften then and realisation almost makes him flinch, you’re flirting, like really flirting, with him. 

“But you wouldn’t mind?” You ask coyly, still grinning for all of england. 

His expression is a little uncertain and he clears his throat, resisting the urge to pluck at his watch. “No- no, not at all.” 

“Good to know.” 

~

The surprise at that is still evident on his face when he finally gets around to going to William to see if these books are really so good they're arousing.

And to be frank they were, there was a huge spike in intake, even for a Saturday night and the tips were so good Henry wishes he was in so he could be included in the tip pool.

"We must have been fully booked, this is great." There's a hint of disbelief as he reads the individual tabs, it's a cheap restaurant, their demographic is families, but these tabs are closer to a proper establishment.

"Pretty much. A lot of walk-ins too." There's a smugness to William's delivery, like he was the main reason for such a good turnover. "Wasn't just that though."

"Oh?" Henry's brows are raised, unsure where this is going.

"Yeah, foxy lass out there worked some magic. I caught her briefing the others on upselling." Henry locks eyes with Will and can't contain the smile that takes over his face. "That one deserves a promotion."

"Yeah, absolutely. Head server, maybe even supervisor." This was unexpected, he knew you were competent but this says more than that, he's proud of you.

"I told her I'd give her my share of tips, you know, a little reward." He's laughing as he speaks, "And she goes," William put his hands on his hips in some kind of mimicry of your attitude, it's ridiculous enough that Henry is laughing before he even knows the joke. "There's no such thing as free money, what are you trying to pay for?" 

He can picture you saying that, your eyes glinting with mischief, grinning at your own comment. It's that suggestive sarcasm you've mastered perfectly, different to the plain suggestive you were just minutes ago. Though both manage to leave him speechless.

Henry listens half-minded as William prattles on, gloating about something or other, he’s too wrapped up in thought to care really. He’ll have to do something nice for you, as a reward for rallying the troops. But it’s likely more for himself than you, and that doesn’t pass him by.

[my-secret-shame]

Random soulmate please 😜

🔮THE FATES HAVE DECIDED🔮

Your soulmate is: Duke Leto Atreides

And you met: in a Office cubicle

MODERN AU BABBYYYYYYY!

So I'm just having a good old chinwag with the Fates, and they're telling me this:

You weren’t happy. 

It had been days, weeks, months if you actually thought about it, since the cubicle next to you had an occupant. And that was exactly how you liked it. 

Your space was on the end, next to half of the wall and window on the right side, and one cubicle on your left. 

Since Amanda, a lovely quiet lady who minded her own business, but was not against knocking on the thin divider between you and asking if you wanted any biscuits from the break room, had left you had had the illusion of being on your own. 

And that was how you liked it. 

You could get your work done, and mess about just as much as you wanted. You could go and talk to coworkers in shared spaces if you wanted to, but you could also slink back to your corner and just… be. 

It was nice. Calm. Peaceful.

And now someone was taking that away. 

You tried not to begrudge this new hire, after all, it wasn’t their fault that they had been placed next to you. But still you couldn’t help the resentment that was creeping in. 

There were other empty cubicles. Why couldn’t they have been put there instead?

What if they were overly chatty? What if they were a goody two shoes and told tales if you were working every second of the working day? What if-

“Hi.” 

You were broken out of your thoughts by a distractingly handsome man holding a cardboard box. 

“I’m your new neighbour, Leto.” 

You finally remembered how to speak. “Hi,” you gave him a small wave and your name before turning back to your computer and pretending to work to hide your embarrassment. 

He nodded and turned away, setting his box down. 

You heard him start to unpack his items and shook your head. Annoyed at how dismissive you’d acted. 

Without giving yourself a moment too long to overthink it, you pushed your chair out just enough to peek around and tap your knuckles against the ‘wall’. 

Leto turned.

“Sorry, bad morning, can I help you get settled or anything?”

He gave you a blinding smile. “Actually, I was thinking about going to the break room, maybe get some biscuits or something, do you want any?”

Thank you so much! - sorry for the delay! I have an inner & middle ear infection at the moment that is kicking my butt.

My Secret Shame's Little Party

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

The Answer

Requested by: anonymous (“Congrats on reaching over 2.5k followers! I was wondering if I could request something with Joe trying to talk the reader out of doing something stupid, but in a funny way?”)

Summary: When Valentine’s Day turns unexpectedly stressful, your favorite coworker Joe Mazzello is there to offer moral support. I may have gotten a little carried away with this one, but it’s all in the spirit of the holiday! 😂 I hope you enjoy it. 💗

Warnings: Language. 

Word Count: 2.2k. 

You can find all my writing here!

Oh my god, this man is about to ask me to marry him.

You are suddenly aware of every immaterial detail, because this is the sort of night you’re supposed to remember forever. This is the sort of night, the sort of story, you’ll be retelling all your life: to parents, to friends, to overly-chatty hairstylists, to coworkers, to children, to grandchildren. The music is slow, sophisticated, French. The dress you’re wearing is lavender and just a stitch too tight in the ribs. The tablecloth is white, the flowers in the centerpiece ruby-red roses. The candlelight bathes Ryan’s face in hot, flickering gold. And he’s smiling, broadly, artfully, like he knows something you don’t. Like maybe he always will.

You’re trying to follow what he’s talking about, but you can’t. It’s some meandering summation of your last two years together: meeting at your mutual friend Sarah’s New Year’s Eve party, numbers tapped into each other’s iPhones, sushi and green tea, browsing through book stores, murky movie theaters and hands entwining on shared armrests, Fourth of July picnics where you socialized gamely with one another’s extended families, kisses that started out light and fleeting in the chilly lobbies of restaurants like this one and turned into hours spent in the rustling shadows of your bedroom. And although the details sometimes evade you, the arc of Ryan’s story is clear: that the journey was perfectly linear, every piece in place, every want and ritual accounted for. That the time has come for the inevitable conclusion.

He reaches across the table to take your hands in his. The last of your beef bourguignon lays unclaimed and forgotten in its bowl. Your appetite has vanished entirely.

“Pierre,” Ryan tells the moustached waiter, grinning triumphantly. “Could you bring out dessert now, please?”

You hear your chair squeal as you bolt to your feet. Your ankles wobble as you balance on your strappy, rather painful silver heels, the ones Ryan likes so much. “I’ll be right back,” you announce. You flash him a reassuring, innocent smile. You gesture apologetically to the wine and water glasses, like it’s all their fault. The perfect fall guys. How dare they interrupt this magical evening.

Ryan suspects nothing. Or—worse, far far worse—he doesn’t care. “Sure, baby. Take your time.”

You zigzag, rather unsteadily, around the restaurant tables—all those other nameless candle-lit couples reminiscing and giggling and feeding each other spoonfuls of quivering chocolate mousse—and crash through the restroom door. There are two college-aged girls touching up their makeup, stark and bone-white under the florescent lights, and they peer quizzically over at you. You take shelter in the nearest stall and lock the door.

“Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god.” You stare at the wall, waiting for a sign. There’s an artsy black-and-white picture of the Eiffel Tower hanging there. Another trivial detail to one day tell your grandchildren about. “Oh my god,” you moan again.

You root through your purse, pull out your iPhone, and find Joe Mazzello in your contacts. You’ve never called him before; you have his number solely in case of work-related emergencies. But your fingers are moving swiftly, almost autonomically; and time is rolling irrevocably forward like a freight train.

“This is clearly a pocket dial,” Joe says as soon as he answers. “There’s no way you’re thinking about me and my subpar sandwich-making abilities on Valentine’s Day.” He’s right about his sandwich skills; they’re honestly abysmal. He’s the worst employee at Quiznos. He always spills the honey mustard everywhere. You, on the other hand, take great pride in your consistently neat, uniform application of condiments. But, nevertheless, Joe is your favorite coworker. Your favorite coworker by a margin that ships could sail through like a drawbridge.

“Help,” you croak.

“Uh...?” Joe’s voice changes. He’s not exactly serious yet—you’re not really sure what a serious Joe Mazzello would even sound like—but he’s definitely apprehensive. “Are you locked in a trunk somewhere...?”

“Wait, no, sorry. I’m not being kidnapped. I’m at L’amour Vrai.”

“Oh, nice!” But he doesn’t sound that thrilled about it. “With Ryan, I’m assuming.”

“Yeah, therein lies the problem.”

Joe is confounded. “...Did he forget to bring you a massive teddy bear and a heart-shaped box of Ferrero Rocher, or...?”

“I think he’s going to ask me to marry him,” you say in a rush, breathlessly. “He’s been rambling about our relationship and being weird and sentimental all through dinner and I think dessert is going to be, like, a giant bowl of chocolate mousse with a ring hidden in the bottom or something and now I’m hiding in the bathroom.”

“And you don’t even like chocolate mousse,” Joe notes.

“That’s not really the point, but yeah, true.”

“So what are you going to do?”

You don’t have an answer. You don’t even have threads of thoughts that could be woven into words. Because no matter how seamless and fated Ryan’s story of your relationship sounds, you feel that something is missing. You’ve always felt that way. And you’ve waited—patiently, undemandingly, faithfully—for that one last piece of surety to drop out of the sky and click into place for the past seven-hundred and forty-four days. You’ve waited for indelible magnetism, for that sensation of free-falling, for love; you’ve waited until you started to suspect those things didn’t exist at all except in fiction. But sometimes, just recently, you think you might be catching glimpses of them: in how Joe sends you a clandestine smirk when a customer is agonizing over whether they want cheddar or swiss, in how he invents new combinations of fountain drinks for you to taste and rank on a highly scientific ten-point scale (Cherry Coke-Dr. Pepper is the current champion at 8.5/10), in how he complains incessantly about having to close but will wipe down the same counter fifteen times while you count the money in the register so you don’t have to lock up alone. And those transitory glimpses are enough to show you exactly what a lifetime with Ryan would mean living without.

“You don’t want to say yes,” Joe realizes quietly. “You wouldn’t be freaking out and hyperventilating in the bathroom if you did.”

“I don’t think I can say no.”

Joe snorts. “Lady, this isn’t the sixteenth century. You’re not being traded to this guy for some cows or a military alliance or a duchy in Germany. You can always say no.”

“But we’re in the middle of this fancy restaurant and he’s got the staff in on it, and everyone is going to stare when he asks me, they’ll probably start clapping and making TikToks and I’m going to look like a total bitch if I don’t say yes.”

“Well, yeah,” Joe says, a little darkly. “That was probably the plan. To put you in a position where you felt like you didn’t have a choice.” And you recall that Joe doesn’t seem to like Ryan very much, hasn’t said a single nice thing about him in the six months that have passed since Joe joined the illustrious Quiznos team.

“Maybe I should say yes and then after tonight never speak to him again.”

“You’re...gonna ghost your fiancé? You legitimately think that’s a better plan?”

“Maybe.”

“It’s only going to get harder to back out as this thing picks up momentum. The families will get involved. There will be dress fittings, venue shopping, cake tasting...oh, wait, actually, don’t back out until after the cake tasting. And invite me.”

“I could fake my own death. Or enlist in the Peace Corps. I’ve always wanted to see Mongolia.”

“But then you’d have to give up your promising career in sandwich making.”

“They might have Quiznos in Mongolia.” You sigh, defeated. “I’m really sorry. I shouldn’t be bothering you with this. I’m definitely ruining your Valentine’s Day.”

“There’s not much to ruin, honestly. I’m re-watching Tiger King and eating my weight in Skittles.”

Oh, right; Joe and his girlfriend Julie broke up last week. And come to think of it, despite the fact that you don’t have any identifiable reason to feel this way, you’ve never really liked Julie either. “I’ll gladly trade you.”

“I mean, sure, I fucking love chocolate mousse. My apartment is only three blocks away. I can hurry over there and put on your dress and heels and earrings or whatever you’re wearing, but I feel like Ryan might catch on.”

You laugh, your first real, involuntary, jolting laugh of the day. “Genius. Let’s do it.”

“You can say no,” Joe tells you, seriously now. This, as it turns out, is what a serious Joe Mazzello sounds like: warm, concerned, measured, his typically frenetic energy temporarily wrangled. “If he asks you to marry him and you want to say no, you can say no.”

“Okay,” you reply, taking a deep breath, resolved.

“Okay?”

“Yeah. Okay. I’ll say no.”

“Cool.” Joe sounds pleased; proud, even.

“Alright. I’m gonna go. Thanks, Joe. Seriously. Thank you so much.”

“No problem. You can mop up my next honey mustard spill as a show of gratitude.”

“Deal,” you say with a smile, and then you hang up.

Waiting for you back at the table is the moustached waiter cheerfully playing a violin, Ryan’s luminous grin, and a glass chalice full of chocolate mousse. Jesus christ. Chocolate fucking mousse.

Ryan motions for you to take a bite. You obediently sit down, pick up your spoon with a quaking hand, dip it into the center of the chocolate mousse...and lift out a diamond ring. You unleash a gasp of horror that Ryan mistakes for—or, perhaps, is determined to believe is—elation.

Ryan plucks the ring off your spoon, wipes it clean with a red cloth napkin, and slips out of his chair to kneel at your feet. Blood is pounding frantically in your ears. Your courage has evaporated. Your legs feel numb, jellylike, boneless. How the hell are you going to walk out of here after you say no? How the hell are you going to say no at all?

Ryan is reciting some generic, Hallmark-card speech. The other restaurant patrons are beaming, clapping, already assuming your answer. Ryan asks you the question. Your trembling hand is now resting at the base of your flushed throat like a noose. Your words are ghosts.

“I...” you sputter. “I...um...”

“Go ahead,” Ryan says, nodding, smooth and undaunted. And suddenly you know that Joe was right; every single part of this was planned. Ryan turns to the crowd. “Aw, folks, give her a hand, she’s shy!”

And as they cheer and whistle encouragingly, as Ryan waits for your acquiescence, as your hope for those things you’ve only caught glimpses of begins to wither like autumn leaves, someone steps between you and Ryan and fills up the hollow, hungry space left by your silence. It’s Joe.

“No no no,” he tells Ryan. His voice is ostensibly matter-of-fact and yet formidable. “She’s not shy. She’s just trying to figure out her answer. And she doesn’t need some random strangers in a French restaurant to help her out with that.” Joe looks at you and raises his eyebrows. “Go ahead. Whenever you’re ready.”

“What the...?!” Ryan exclaims, his eyes shifting from you to Joe. The other patrons are extremely bewildered. The waiter’s violin playing screeches to a halt.

“No,” you say, your courage flooding back in, a slow smile igniting across your face.

Ryan doesn’t understand. “No...?”

“No. My answer is no. The past two years have been nice, but this is over now. I’m not right for you, Ryan. You’re not right for me either. And I think you know that. So goodbye.”

You stand, sling your purse over your shoulder, and follow Joe out of L’amour Vrai; but not before you yank off your silver high heels and leave them there on the restaurant floor. The other guests are in scandalized uproar now. Ryan is still kneeling, furious and in shock. Outside it is bitingly cold and your breath turns to fog in the night air; the chilly concrete sidewalk soothes the aching soles of your feet.

Joe is ecstatic, his eyes gleaming under the streetlights as you walk together. “That was incredible! Did you see his face?! He totally thought he was going to be able to bully you into saying yes and you were not having it, you are a beast my dear, I hope some of those people put you on TikTok, I hope you get TikTok famous for being freaking awesome, then you can get rich and buy a mansion and let me live in the pool house and I’ll never have to work or suffer another honey-mustard-related catastrophe again—”

“Joe.” You stop him abruptly, resting a palm against his chest, gazing up at him beneath the cold stars. And after a moment he understands, and he kisses you. You catch more than a glimpse of those beautiful things you’d feared might not exist. They light up like the goddamn Eiffel Tower.

“I’ve wanted that for six months,” Joe says as he pulls away, softly, shakily, smiling almost shyly.

“Yeah,” you reply. “I think I have too.”

Joe takes your face in his hands and kisses you again. He tastes like heat and harmony and laughter and Skittles; but more than all of that, he tastes like love.

[sitinthelight]

Well Zach is in his hometown for a few days and I’m in this weird restless mood while being super tired at the exact same time. 

I want to go drinking and I want to dance. Actually, I mostly just want to dance.  I want to be happy and so fucking giddy that I’m out of my mind and care free and just be in that moment when nothing matters so I’m going to have a good time.

Do you ever have a conversation and you realize hmmm, I probably shouldn’t have said that because now it’s weird? I mean, that’s kind of every extended conversation I have with anyone but still.

I kind of want to punch myself in the face (((: but at the same time, I want to go dancing, so? 

I am not going to beat myself up over this! I refuse to! You know, I have gotten so much better about feeling guilty over everything! And I was being vulnerable! So bonus points, right? 

Anyway, I’m friends with my ex. I guess we’ve become good friends in the past several months. He asked me if I still was planning to move to Charlotte and of course my whole situation is convoluted (in my mind) so I was like, can I explain it to you over skye because I didn’t feel like talking about it through text. 

Jesus, I have no idea how anyone deals with me and talking to me because words don’t come out of my mouth correctly? Like in my head I’m just like this is what I will say! But when it comes out of my mouth it’s like scrabble with words. Have fun rearranging my sentence and guessing what I’m trying to say! AND I SAID NOT TO BEAT MYSELF UP. I will learn how to talk to people one day, I swear. 

SO, we’re skyping and he finally gets me to start talking about the situation at hand and I’m explaining the developments in some sort of way and telling him my options. I then proceed to kind of casually mention my hesitation of moving to a new place with Zach because I don’t know how much longer I’m going to be with him. AND boy oh boy oh boy, why did I mention that? To my ex. 

Granted, he took it well. He is probably used to my awkwardness by now so I’m guessing that helps and he was very nice and understanding about it and didn’t ask any further questions and I don’t even remember what I said after that.

But I’m kind of mortified. 

Btw, I was finally emailed the new leasing terms for my apartment as this current lease ends in July. The new rent will be nearly $1000 and I’m just in shock that they put it up that high out of seemingly no where? With no justification. This is a nice place, I have been very fortunate to have been able to live here for the past 2 years but fuck that. I’m going to start paying my own rent in July and I’m not spending that much money on rent in fucking Winston Salem. Literally, the only other apartments in this area that are that expensive are the fancy luxury ones downtown. 

Is $1000 a month normal in other cities or even considered a steal for a 2 bedroom 2 bath? Oh absolutely, but this is Winston Salem. I was told that the price I’ve been paying this past year was way too high but this extra $150 is just head-scratching. How? Why? What on earth. I know Charlotte is worse but like, this isn’t Charlotte. 

Yikes can I go on a tangent. Anywayyyyy, yes. I am mortified. Yep yep yep yep yep. Always saying a little toooooo much to people who don’t really need to know that much. Is he a good friend? yes. But he is also my ex and he doesn’t need shit like that dumped on him as I’m sure he has his own problems to deal with.

But it’s been done. It has been said. He was nice about it! I will let this feeling happen for as long as it needs to and then I will resume normal business. I will apologize in the morning and it will be fine. He’ll be cool about it like he always is.

However, there is some adrenaline in my system right now. Like, my mind is going wwwoooooosh all over the place. 

I always used to be on my toes around my ex, even during the month and a half we dated. Even during everything that happened after that. He gave me soooo much social anxiety. I once held my pee in for like 4 hours hanging out with him because I was too afraid to move or say I had to go to the bathroom. But Jesus, I reallyyyyy liked him and I wanted to get to know him better and whelp, it’s several years later and I finally am getting over my social anxiety with him. Talking to him regularly has definitely helped. 

Honestly, my social anxiety hasn’t been bad lately. I’m still reluctant to make phone calls, except at work. I’m doing so much better with calling people at work. That used to be my most hated task at the bookstore. I hated calling customers to give them bad news about their orders. I always tried to send out emails instead. 

But I’ve been chatty with my coworkers and trying to establish “bonds” with them. Dave and Busters opened in the mall so I’m trying to slowly and low-key convince my coworker to go with me. She’s pretty cool. We actually have a lot in common but sadly we are both awkward introverts so it’s taken a year of working with each other to finally figure that out. 

The coworker I really wanted to be friends with quit. I feel like we could have been pretty good friends because we have SO much in common and she definitely tried getting to know me on multiple occasions but my personality can be so unforgiving. I act uninterested in fear of being overly interested and IT IS FUCKING GREAT ((((((:

It’s also very possible that I may have had a tiny crush on her. Not like an OMG I AM OBSESSED WITH THIS PERSON type of crush.  More like, she’s cute and quirky and I really think she’s cool but I have a boyfriend so these thoughts will stay subdued. 

But I haven’t really felt socially anxious lately? And that’s been great. It makes my world a smidge more easier. Depression though? Still here. Always lurking. Always waiting for a moment to strike. The nice weather helps so much though. I’m still weighing pros and cons of medication and therapy in my current situation. I definitely want to put a lot more research and thought into it before I make any decisions. I just know that I want to be on some proper treatment path before seasonal depression hits again. 

You know, I have the day off tomorrow. Originally I was going to stay in for most of the day. I was going to leave to pick up a package from the front office (because I bought the most  “me” shoes ever”), but now I’m debating actually going out and doing something. 

I kind of want to go downtown. That’s so far been my favorite part of this city. There is a brewery/bar that makes an amazing vegetarian burger and though I’m not vegetarian, it’s a fucking amazing burger. Right next to that brewery is a really cool store that sells local items and they have a huge selection of vintage clothes! I walked in out of curiosity a few weeks ago and fell in love with the atmosphere and just the general vibe of the place. 

I’m now considering this because I just got an email (who sends emails after midnight?) from the metaphysical store downtown. There is apparently going to be a flash sale and while I don’t need new crystals, they had some really cool ones last time I was in there and hey, maybe this is the time to pick some new ones up. 

This is all just a late night and too tired to be alive fever dream though. Honestly, I’ll probably just stay in but one of these days, I’ll do something fun. When I finally get this driving thing down, I’ll have as many fun days as I want because it just sounds like a hassle getting an uber there and back and walking around downtown (which is huge and not every street is entirely safe) by myself. Like the crystal store. It’s really only a ten minute walk but I’m a chicken, okay? I’ve never dealt with so many creeps in my life in any other city as I have here. Did that sentence even make sense? Probably not, I don’t care. 

BUT I MIGHT SEE SUPERORGANISM SUNDAY. SO THAT WILL BE FUN.

I’m really hoping Zach will be up for it. I’m praying he will be. I really really really want to go. I’ve become so fond of this band. I’d be so happy to see them live. Also the venue is in a former mid-century car dealership so I’m dying to see it. Zach is the only person whose been around me often enough to know this but I LOVE mid-century modern design and architecture. 

I also want a reason to wear fun make up and dress up. Like, this is an excuse to use crazy eyeshadow and glitter because the band is fairly eccentric. 

We’ll see though. Zach was supposed to be driving back Saturday evening but his dad bought tickets to see some musician (Bob...S...something) in Virginia for Saturday evening so he’ll be driving back Sunday morning instead :/ It’s like a 4 hour drive from there to here so I don’t know if he’ll have the energy or motivation to drive 1.5 hours to Durham for a band he is only mildly interested in. 

I really should just stay in tomorrow though. I could really use the time to answer the essay questions for my application for school and answer back to the advisor (that they already assigned me?). He just wants to go over the program details with me because it is a bit rigorous. I’m up for the challenge though. I need something productive to occupy my time with and I’ve had a good break these past 2 years.