Who knew having to put checked-in books back onto their proper shelves was so...tiring?

Well, it's not so much as tiring from physical exertion as it is from the sheer boredom of it. Going back and forth, back and forth, is somewhat monotonous. I do enjoy my job, though. Most of the time it's quiet and I can scan the shelves for something interesting. I especially like to help the wayward ones who need something for a class. It just makes me...feel good to help someone who needs it.

That said, I'm almost done with that project my Speech professor assigned me two days ago. It's a little longer than he said, but...there was no maximum limit, really, except that it couldn't be longer than six minutes. I think mine's five and a half, which isn't too bad. Some people were struggling to hit the minimum!

There's also this boy in my English 101 class who is a little...strange. Well, when he shows up, anyway. I think his name is Lelouch something-or-other (great memory, I know), and the only reason I know that is because he rarely shows up, thus aggravating the teacher to no end. I don't know why you would sign up for a class only to never show up to it, but whatever. I've heard he spends a lot of time in the library or up on the roof, so only the gods above really know what he's up to. The only reason I care is because he was supposed to be my partner for this assignment I have, but I've never met him. He's around my age, too, so he's a little old to be slacking off so terribly.

I'll have to find him and confront him. I'm not going to do all this work by myself! Not when my partner is supposed to help me...

Sorry I can't talk long - I've managed to accost a computer at work, so I'm on limited time here. (The breaks are not long enough.)

Sleazy Harem Guy (this is what I've decided to refer to him as) keeps asking me out. Not only that, but he also begins talking about us getting married. Both of which are extremely preposterous since the man I wish to wed neither looks nor acts like a total - pardon my mouth, here - douche, for lack of a better term. I don't go for the sleaze balls, I go for the gentlemen who respect women and treat them right.

Those girls were giggling once again about "Mr. Sexy Lingerie Hottie", as they've officially dubbed him. They too are talking about marriage, except they keep fighting over what days of the week they'll get to sleep with him on. I just... I don't know what to do anymore. I really don't. But they were also giggling over a...clump of blue hair in a Ziploc bag, and the one girl brags that she "scissored it off when he wasn't looking". They were fighting over that as well.

Girl #3 then said, quite jokingly, "That salesman is actually a woman," to which the girls shrieked like harpies (they still are, actually, and one of my co-workers is trying to calm them down), which escalated into a near-fist fight. I've seen cat fights over men before, but this was...this puts them all to shame. It really does.

So, dearest Marth, if you find that one part of your gorgeous and silky hair is missing... I managed to procure the plastic bag with your hair in it amidst all the screaming and fist flailing. How they managed to cut part of your hair without you noticing, I have no idea.

I'll probably update once I get off from my shift at...eleven tonight. That is, if I'm not exhausted and screaming myself by that time.