I’ve managed to take off the newspapers, the map, and the German photos off my wall. I still have Will’s record to take off, all of my photography pictures, bouquets, funny things from magazines, and Happy Birthday posters. I’ll get there. My goal for tomorrow is to take out all of my books out of the bookshelf, stick all of my clothes in the closet so we can move out the dresser, and… yeah.
Besides taking pictures of myself and making boring, self-absorbed movie clips, work is my only entertainment this week. I’ve learned about work crushes and who gets bugged with who and all kinds of silly things. I find it hilarious. While I work, I try to puzzle piece everything together: Why does he like her? Why does she get bugged with him and not him? Why won’t he like her back? Why don’t they just sign the HR form? It keeps me busy throughout the day. When I’m listening to people complain at work, I get to know what little things people just can’t deal with. And then I sit there trying to reason why they get bugged with it. What is it about their personality that just can’t connect with another? Or why does this person have such a pet peeve with this little thing? Ooo, I love thinking about it.
But today I thought about what my own pet peeves are. What kind of people bug me? What do people do that really bug me? I don’t really know… I feel like for the most part I try to stay away from that kind of stuff. I guess you just have to hammer it into your brain to accept people’s quirks and move on. You may eventually love them for their quirks, even if it’s from a distance.
Oh! I got something! I got a pet peeve! Today I taped a message to the fridge: “DEAR FAMILY—DO NOT COME INTO MY ROOM AND TAKE THINGS (LIKE BELGIUM CHOCOLATE SPRINKLES) WITHOUT ASKING!” Mom walked in the kitchen and started laughing when she saw the sign. I glared at her, grabbed my box of sprinkles, and marched up to my room. There you go. My pet peeve is when people (Cough, Mom) steal your freaking Belgium chocolate from your room and eat more than half of the box for breakfast.
AND THEN THEY (cough, family) BLAME ME FOR EATING THE OREOS, CHIPS, CRACKERS, POPCORN, JUICE, MILK, AND CEREAL WHEN I’M ONLY AT HOME FOR FIVE HOURS OF THE DAY AND WHEN THERE’S TWO OTHER GROWING BOYS IN THE HOUSE ALWAYS STANDING IN FRONT OF THE PANTRY.
But no. It’s Anne who eats everything. Because that one time when she was 15 she ate a whole box of oreos all by herself. And they just can’t get over that.