I am a word person. When it comes to numbers, I am rendered helpless. Even simple math eludes me. I once worked at a toy store for a summer and balancing the cash drawer at the end of the night was like Chinese Water Torture to me. So it will come as no surprise that I dread having to fill out my time-sheet at the end of every work week. Were it in a normal format, or if I worked the same schedule every week, it would be less of a hassle. But it isn't, and I don't.
As I filled out the form today I realized I wouldn't have enough time to hit the gym before Logic got off work. I was really looking forward to a good jog but I knew it was my own fault for not catching up on my hours earlier in the week.
The time-sheet, while filled out, remained on my desktop all day until I finally sent it in an hour ago. Right before I clicked the 'send' button, I realized my math was off. I'd actually worked an hour of overtime. Granted things could have been worse, but for a girl who's sole purpose in life is to feel the endorphins achieved at the gym, it was really disappointing.
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