I forgot to mention yesterday: my supervisor is my cousin.
While I was driving home, the toll-booth guy asked me if I was ok.
"Are you going to be all right? You look exhausted."
"I'm sick," I tell him. "I'm going home now."
"You take care of yourself."
Oh, and another reason why I look so dead is because I did what she told me and came to work in lip gloss and mascara. She made me put her mascara on when I got there because mine wasn't dark enough. Whatever.
She gave me this evil death glare for wanting to leave. If I hadn't left, I wouldn't have been able to get home. I felt so shitty that my eyes would just wobble back and forth when I tried to force them to focus on things.
But poop. This is no pity party.