I'm so upset, but it's about something stupid.
I was trying to order a textbook for this coming semester. I like having them ready when classes start. I like finding the cheapest price.
So I found the cheapest price, and there was a coupon code to go with it.
All is well, until I go about buying it and miss seeing where to put the coupon code in. So I lost about nine dollars, or rather, I didn't save that much because I didn't put the coupon code in because I didn't see the spot in time, placed the order hoping it would show up, and, well, I didn't get to use it. So I'm really upset, which is pretty stupid, because it is $9. Okay, but if I had to deal with a crying child long enough to earn that nine dollars...! While I'm this grumpy...!
But really, Abigail, nine dollars? You're gonna be okay.
That or die of debt, which I haven't heard of ever happening, so I guess I should take that off my list of concerns. (Especially since it is nine dollars that are apparently going to push me over the edge. No, wait, I'm actually worried about the very dollar that pushes me over this edge, wherever it mysteriously lives. This might explain my great anxiety over purchases at the dollar store.)
Speaking of such purchases, I got some really yummy cheese curls. Really yummy. For once, my one friend's advice to treat myself to junk food actually served me well. Between the cheese curls and the new talking snowman I bought, my very depressed thinking turned to lighter, happier subjects.
This talking snowman is FABULOUS! And I officially bought it for speech therapy purposes (for the day when I can actually earn my living that way, Lord willing). Because this super snowman repeats what you say to it! Great incentive to talk out loud. So great, in fact, that I was talking, and not quietly, in my apartment, and laughing at the little snowman bobbing up and down and squeeking my words back at me. The snowman could use some articulation therapy, actually, considering a few of his problems pronouncing things. But that's okay. It just means that I have to talk more clearly to it if I want it to talk more clearly back.
To clarify, in this case, no, I'm not talking to myself or my pet. I'm talking to a toy that talks back to me (with echolalia).
Now that was a happier subject. I'm feeling better. I guess, with the help of my snowman, I'll get over my monitary loss.