Today seemed to start out on the wrong side of the bed. I woke up with the strongest urge to pee, I didn’t think I would ever make it to the toilet. And on top of that I was starving and thought my stomach could be heard by the neighbors down the street.
After taking care of all my needs, and then checking my email I had to say my day brightened considerably. While it was low on the totem pole, I was able to get a job in a painting career. Just a lowly Palette Cleaner, but any help to earn money towards my house, and one that was in a profession I loved, was better than nothing. I hoped quick to the gym to grab a shower and then hopped straight to collecting from all the little nodes around my house.
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My day didn’t exactly start off all that well. I had sent in some resumes before arriving to town, but after checking my email I was a little disappointed to see that no one had yet to email me back with an interview at least. I hadn’t thought it would be this hard to get a job.
It’s always hard when things don’t exactly go as planned. Especially since I really need a job so I can hopefully start building a house for myself. Some walls and a little privacy would be nice, as would a kitchen where I can actually cook and have the money for a stove. Not that all the fresh air isn’t nice, but well, it’s not exactly great either. I was never a huge fan of camping when I was a kid.
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Hello everyone, I’m Abigail and I’ve decided to start this little diary of sorts to keep track of the new adventure that life is taking me on, and hopefully any children I have after me will continue this tradition.
My life as a whole was never that exciting. My mother raised my brothers and I in a small town, so small everyone knew everyone and in the summer if too many people used their air conditioners at the same time, well it just meant that the town would have a blackout. Yeah, it wasn’t big, and we didn’t have much. But we made due. My father didn’t exactly stick around to help us out either.
Though, to be fair neither did any of my brother’s fathers’. Mom was mostly on her own while she raised us which probably explained not having all that much. By sixteen I was working at the local mini-mart to bring in money and help pay the bills.
Mom never talked about dad too much, any of them, even when we tried to question her about them throughout different times in our lives. Ever hopeful of just the scraps of history we could gleam from what we could occasionally pry from her. I know that no one in mom’s family has the purple eyes I have, so I must have received those from my father at the very least.
At eighteen, freshly graduated from high school and with no money to go to college, I was at least making enough money at the mini-mart to move out into my own apartment. It wasn’t the best neighborhood, but then no where really was. It was home, and it was mine, and that was all I could ask for.
Two years later, everything had stayed the same, but my life was destined to change. A courier arrived outside my building just after I’d gotten home from work, fired after getting into an argument with the manager over hours I needed and he wouldn’t give me. The courier looked mighty confused as he stood looking up at the shabby apartment building I lived in, glancing nervously at the envelope in his hand with my name and address scrawled elegantly across the front.
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