12 August, 2009. 8:21 AM.

I finished class (two weeks ago). Ignore the huge time gap--in spite of being done with class, I've still been busy, among other things.

Firstly, the night before class ended was ambulance night. I knew that Dan was going to be there on one of the trucks, but when we went outside to go to our assigned vehicle, I didn't expect to be assigned to his! The battery died, so we were sitting in the back of the ambulance, with no lights and certainly no AC. Howwever, that didn't stop us from getting a flashlight tour of the back, and it certainly didn't stop Dan from making jokes about Matt and I in front of my group. Being the attention whore that I am, I got a kick out of it. In a few words, we joked about getting the 'DEAD' triage tag for me to put on the doorknob of my room for certain situations. I was amused.

Flash to the next day! Exam time! I got a 100. The instructors were "not surprised" and did a little excited dance after they graded my exam. My comments sheet was all good things--I was very happy. Christine said that if I want to be an instructor, I should talk to her about getting into training. I'm definitely thinking about it--especially if BU comes to teach at Brandeis, which they should.

Went across the street to Sunset after with my classmates. Jesse and Brittany and I decided to start an EMS-themed bar, with drink sizes being No Neck, Short, Regular, and Tall. That was basically as far as we got. I left before the instructors came--needed to drive home and didn't want to fall asleep doing so.

So, I thought that not having class would make my life easier--wrong. I miss class. When I had it to look forward to, a bad day at work could end quickly. A few tears in the little park down Commonwealth and I'd go to FitRec and it wouldn't matter anymore. I could, strangely enough, be alone during lecture. I didn't have to interact with people.

Now, I go home, see my family (but lots of them are travelling), walk the dog, talk to Matt online, go to sleep. I know I've said this a million times, but work is killing me. I never used to have bad days like this--last night, for instance, I went to bed at 9:30 just because I wanted the day to end. I consider it a good day if I don't break down into a puddle during the day. And my family either doesn't care or doesn't understand. Like I'm making this up. Yes, I know we've all had bad summer jobs, I'm not saying that I'm the only one who's had this happen. But it's still made my significantly less happy. I feel like that should count for something.

Enough whining--I go back to school in 13 (!!!) days. I see Matt this weekend. I am done with this summer. I quit.