I talked to my manager about cutting back on hours because of the stage managing gig (which is officially beginning on Saturday - yay!), and he started giving me a guilt trip about responsibility and whatnot. Apparently, he told one of the managers, George, who I really like, that I was essentially quitting. George passed a message along through one of my dormies (Jesse - someone I'm not all that fond of to begin with) that I wasn't allowed to quit. Jesse added that he didn't think I should, either - that it was "the right kind of job for me".
This, of course, led me into all sorts of self-whathaveyous, involving wondering if the only thing I'm cut out for is Commons work, serving food and working a cash register, etc., etc. Nobody needs that. I just got off the phone with my mother, which made me feel better, but still. Nyah.
And now, sleep. More coherence later, I hope.