Dirty, Rotten, Lousy, Stinking Dearth of Adjectives!

Sorry for the long break; I have been recuperating from the worst week of my life--or rather, the worst normal week of my life. There were no deaths, no accidents or major health crises—and even given the craptasm that was March 3-10, it could have been way worse—but still. In all my adult life, a week has never tried, and succeeded, in making me cry so goddamn many times.

On the theory that personalized universe-shittery is inversely related, I had only the highest hopes for this week. Jesus delivered in the form of daylight savings time, so now the sun sets not five minutes before we leave work, but five minutes before we get home. Winter may still be with us but the light is surely coming back, causing pagans to dance and shag in celebration (Christians will do the same, but feel bad about it). I took the opportunity of a 40 degree day to go running, which went well, except that my body forgot how, so now I walk like the Duke.
Consequently I have had the energy and mobility to do very little, including:

- Talking myself into, and out of, eating leftover falafel with disturbing alacrity.

- Seeing a picture of the Swedish Chef and laughing for a full minute. At the still. That’s how funny Muppets are.

- Writing an IM to my sister in which I misspell ‘boomerang’ and neglect to capitalize Mexico, but remember to capitalize Bob the Builder. Checked priorities.

- Regretting the falafel, because fried foods and I rarely get on and after the pesto last night the system is really not up to spec and you can’t go mudding two days in row with a broken axle and yes, two bites will still hurt.

- Watching the video of the lady getting hugged by the lion again, just because.

- Getting very annoyed at visitors wandering around the office, desperately lost, standing in front of my cube and staring at me, hoping I’ll stop typing and look up and ask if I can help them because of the ten people seated at desks I am the only one who can help them so they stand, not talking, not asking for help, just watching me and hoping their silent presence is enough for me to shift my gaze, seeing how long they will stand there while I type, typing this, in fact, wondering if I never looked up they would just kindly fuck off because it’s not like they came to see me.

Why am I jumping from love to hate in such a desultory fashion? And why did I just eat my weight in baklava? Oh right, it must be P to the M to the S, bitches. If you’re in my zip code and wondered what the Tasmanian Devil looks like with a hormone-cranked uterus, you better look the fuck out.

Now excuse me while I go stick my head in a cake.


Anonymous said…
I don't think I've ever heard or seen you use the f-bomb so many times. It MUST be bad... So sorry... But you're still damn funny enough to make me laugh out loud! :o)
Anonymous said…
awww your Action Jackie is here for you.

I think the planets were out of alignment last week. It seemed bad for everyone.

my poor Sarah Bear : /

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