I Smell Like a French Fry

I smell like a French Fry. So does my hair, my clothes, my laundry basket, my chair, my covers, and my bed.

"Why, Inyanna, do you smell like a French Fry," you may ask.

Well, Good Reader, that's a good question. I smell like a French Fry because I work for McDonalds, who prides themselves on smelling like French Fries 24-7. And since I've currently worked 14 days in a row without a day off (since I've filled in shifts for people with some extenuating circumstances), all of my work clothes are dirty. And since my bed is also my couch, I sit on it in my work clothes, smelling like a French Fry.

Methinks I might not be working tomorrow, though. Not because I'm off, mind you. No, no, please don't get that idea. I kind of fell down the stairs tonight. I was walking down the rubber-coated steps in my grease-watery-not-non-slip shoes (because I can't find my non-slip ones, since I haven't gotten a day off in two weeks) and slipped on the second step. I fell on my butt, and bounced down about 6 steps, and came to a stop by catching myself with my hands and feet.

So, my butt hurts, my lower lumbar hurts dead center vertebrae, and there's a definate line of hurt (skin-deep only) where my head bounced off a step. The company nurse says I can't lift over 10 pounds, I shouldn't lift over my head, I should ice the "injured area", and take some Tylenol. Methinks my back and butt will hurt like hell tomorrow, and I will be in bed with said ice and Tylenol when I should be working.