Another Monday

I have not stopped farting at my desk since I got here.  It’s a scary place to find yourself when you’re right by the stairwell door that 75% of the office uses.   I can’t fan it quickly away when I hear people coming up the stairs either, because my boss’ desk stares directly at me and I’m pretty sure he suspects I’m the sort of person that would do such a thing under their desk.  Summer also means no jacket to muffle the winds either, so they spread across the plains as they please.
I’m not lactose intolerant, but my dairy intake is slightly excessive.  It’s the cheese, I love the cheese, and this is the curse of being a cheese lover.


Only Thirty-Seven Hours of the Work Week Left

As much as I dislike Mondays, I’ve never found them to be nearly as difficult as Tuesdays.

a) because Monday morning coffee is the cat’s pajamas

b) because everyone I work with is so tried that they don’t talk to me

c) because any caught-red-handed slacking can be easily justified with a  “sorry, it’s Monday; I don’t know where my brain is”

Tuesdays, however, are just miserable things.  It’s like popping out of auto-pilot and feeling the full weight of everything.  Plus, the ABC’s of Monday are gone.  The coffee is good but not GREAT, people want to talk again and there are no excuses for slacking.  Monday has a certain edge to it that makes everyone else semi-miserable and since I’m usually Gloomy Gertrude, I benefit from their silent agony; I really do, I’m just going to come right out and say it.
I certainly don’t root for anyone’s misery, I’m just completely burned by this Monday-Friday routine.  I like routine things on my own terms, not on payroll terms.  Working in an office, truly is like Office Space.  When I was young, it was hilarious.  As an adult, it is far too realistic.  Peter truly is the blue-collar hero.
I’m ready for my Colorado cabin and occupational typewriter with a bottle of whiskey now.  I’ve had enough of this 40 hour a week crap.



Yes.  This morning, I woke up out of a dead sleep to the first alarm.  Not that groggy, light sleep that usually greets me in the morning.  Nope, I was in a full-blown dream-state.  To make it worse; I sat at my desk for an hour this morning before anyone else decided to get to work.  Must be nice to make your own hours??  Even though you’re not really supposed to…
This morning has not treated my anxiety well either.  I really just want to bury myself beneath a pile of blankets and put as many layers between myself and reality as possible.  However, Cat Stevens has been very kind to this desire and put my head in a light fog right above the white-capped waves.  I’m truly afraid to take these headphones out, terrified I’ll get caught in the current that generally pulls my mind to a place I’m not too fond of.
The worst part about the anxiety is the disgusting negativity that comes with it.  As if I’m not already enough of a bitch about people that annoy me, when I’m anxious and irritable, I’m a beast.
My eyebrows hover in a straight line above my eyes and I refused to make eye contact when anyone talks to me.
It’s the worst.  The nerve of people.

An Introduction To Bus-People

Seriously with the bus today?  Some days, the bus rides are quiet and smooth.  Other days, the creeps come out of the wood works and wreak havoc against the calm environment of the unfortunate bus-riding working class.  In the past two months of riding the bus, I have discovered that Fridays and Mondays are the worst.  On Mondays, I assume the weirdos are going home to sleep after a long night of doing whatever they do.  And Fridays, well, Friday is Friday employed or unemployed.

So far, I have seen/heard:

• A woman talking to a bag of popcorn (that was apparently had a great sense of humor) with no bra and low cut sleeves so you could see the side of her breasts

• A heroin addict telling me he rode the bus by choice because he was upholding some moral code by not driving with a suspended license

• A woman in a wheelchair having an hour long conversation with someone no one else could see who did not approve her way of life or the way she spent her money, and I quote “Me and the microwave and the refrigerator is gettin’ along just fine — we living together just fine”

• A man bragging about living on welfare (enough said)

• A man who lost his wallet screaming “FUCK… OH GOD…. OH GOD… GOD DAMMIT….FUCK…” over and over until he was asked to sit down and shut up.

And so many others.  Most of the time, I record the dialogue of these wonderful, noncontributing members of our society and play them for other people.  I have no doubt they will find their way in to my writings and get cozy… at least, that’s what I’m hoping for.  Until then, bits and pieces will pop-up here and there and create a reason for people to actually read this.

E.T.A. I will, eventually, find a way to upload the recordings for everyone’s listening pleasure. Until then, enjoy these pictures: