I decided this morning that I was going to be pleasant and happy if it killed me. So I have my plastic smile on. And it's strange, because I am not unhappy. I have absolutely no reason to be out of sorts, I can only surmise that the lack of mental stimulation is making my brain crazy, and that in order for me to get back to normal, I need to spend as little time as humanly possible in this building. And in the mean time, I will put on my plastic smile, and no one will notice that it's not real. I have never been able to hide my feelings well, and attempting to do so is giving me a stomach ache. I hate feeling so fake.

Being pleasant and ignorable is all one really wants in a receptionist anyway, right? If she keeps the office together doesn't make a stink, and acts like there is nothing else in the world she would rather be doing, (oh, and let's not forget the all-important small talk about the weather) she's performing at the peak of her potential. Heaven forbid wanting a creative outlet or a bit of a challenge. If I can't smile while opening mail and answering ridiculous phone calls, there must be something wrong with me.

So plastic it is. Although I am thinking that bronze might be a more attractive and longer lasting alternative.