I don't always enjoy being a girl.

Today I cried at work.

Cue the chorus of groans, you've all witnessed a girl cry at work. I'm groaning along with you, really I am. That girl sucks. I hate her too. She can't just separate work and real life. She can't not take everything too personally. She can't stand up for herself, she gets overwhelmed, blah blah blah.

I read ya. Loud and clear. I received a "I'm worried about you" AND a pity coffee today.

A PITY COFFEE.

In a time of layoffs, by the way. Again. Now with more beer money and less patience in waiting for my F-ing severance already!

The hot tears sprung to my eyes for the first place because my job is like working for The Terrible Trivium.

Like this:



So, after moving piles of sand with tweezers, drilling through mountains with needles, and emptying wells with an eyedropper, I had about had it.

So I cried.

It finally happened.

Every morning when I make my coffee, I make a mental note of the time when I turn off the coffee maker. I bought my coffee maker for $7.99 at Target in the "off to college" section.

7:55. 8:01. 8:13. 8:23.

It's an integral part of my morning routine. Flip on "Today Show". Rinse and repeat. Apply liberally. Make sure coffee maker is off. Slip on shoes. Lock door.

I guess you could say I have an irrational fear of leaving the coffee pot on.

Well, of leaving the coffee pot on, it shorting some wires, and me burning my apartment building down.

I've double checked. Triple checked. Stopped checking because I felt like I belonged on MTV True Life: I have OCD.

I have even turned RIGHT around when finally at the metro in the morning to go BACK to double check that it's off. I stopped short at calling my boyfriend and having him in all his non-electrician glory console me and say that I could leave the coffee pot on. Nothing would break or burn.

I don't really trust myself not to burn the house down. I can't keep plants alive and I forget to vacuum a lot.

I used to live on the top floor of a row house in Adams Morgan above some businesses. I would come home from Thanksgiving to find the front door wide open for days thanks to thoughtless travel agency workers. The wiring in our building was old, and alarms went off and they almost shut down our power. We had a wire gate that separated us from the rest of the boozy world where drunk frat boys would pass out on our front steps.

I used to fret about whether or not the apartment would still exist when I was away. I would always see the outside and breathe a half-sight of relief; the other half exhaled when I saw none of my stuff was moved.

It's hard to shake that when you live in a proper apartment building with locks and a landlady.

Today I had to make a stressful phone call in the morning. I was EXTRA glad to discover coffee in my cupboard when I had presumed I was out. I made coffee! I rinsed and repeated! I made the phone call! I watched the Today Show!

And I went to work.

AND came home and watched TV.

AND went to the gym.

AND THEN, only 20 minutes ago, discovered when I followed my nose to the vague smell of burnt chocolate, that the coffee pot was still on.

Moral of the story: if you leave the coffee pot on, planets do not combust, God does not kill a kitten, and my house doesn't burn down.

Don't you think for a MINUTE that I'm going to press my luck twice in this department, thankyouverymuch.

It is currently unplugged.