Working at the mental hospital is proving very interesting. Tiring but interesting... my payday won't come for another 2 weeks and i'm afraid all of that is probably going towards sales tax on the new(ish) car Sean and I bought together and the monthly bills. Oh well, its worth it. His truck was dying badly and it was time for something new. We had to put me as the main signer because my credits better then his, but i'm not sure by how much. It feels a little weird, but good to be this entangled in someone else's life. Hes been everything I could have hoped for and more. And he took care of me through my pregnancy, so hes really earned this car. I wish i could drive it though, at least once, but its a stick, and I can't drive those... yet. The 'clients' (the term we use for the patients at the hospital) are fairly nice to me. Many have already learned my name and won't let any of the other clients treat me badly. I guess I'm doing a good job beacause the man that usually hates all the dietary workers as a rule has taken to me and praises me when he comes through the line. It makes me feel good, like in my little part, I'm helping them on their journey toward recovery by just treating them like normal people as much as I can. Though its dangerous to forget that they are ill and can be unpredictable. We had a fight almost break out between two of them in the middle of the dining room but it was broken up and resloved before it went too far. But all in all I like my job. I really think that I'm making a difference.