Needless to say, yesterday was not a good day for me. In fact, this past week hasn�t exactly been what one might call �exceptional�. Unless you�re saying it�s been, like, �exceptionally bad� or something.
Yesterday, when I wasn�t running a meeting during which I was getting more and more assignments to do "URGENTLY!!! BY THE END OF THE DAY!!!" I was formatting and restructuring various forms and letters in the database, printing them, faxing them, receiving adjustments, inputting adjustments, receiving more corrections and adjustments, inputting those, printing them out, faxing them, getting phone calls from Chicago, speaking to some lady from Chicago, and just generally wishing I was dead. After lunch, things really got crazy.
Maybe that�s why last night I had this dream that I was being held hostage in North Korea during some kind of international terrorist showdown. And then I dreamt I was drunk and was being forced to climb a ladder made out of pipe cleaners, 200 feet above a rocky gorge somewhere in the mountains. Then I dreamt I was at work. Then I dreamt that I woke up and had to go to work, where I was telling Corinne that I�d dreamt I was at work the night before, and then I finally really woke up, and�had to go to work. And here I am. And so, in a lot of ways, it feels like I never really left. Well, except for the short stint I spent in a prison camp in North Korea. So, really, no difference.
The fucked-up part about the North Korean portion of my dream was that my father was trying to save my life by stealing all the stuff North Korea was demanding in exchange for my safe return, his theory being that if he destroyed it all, the North Koreans would have no choice but to let me go, because all that stuff wouldn�t exist anymore and their efforts would be pointless. Of course, I�m thinking, "Dad! Seriously! Bad idea! Just give it to them!" I mean, after all, all they wanted was a couple CDs and an iPod. And I�m not kidding about that, either. But at least his heart was in the right place.
The lights in my office have burned out. They�ve been burned out for a couple weeks now, but I haven�t had time to take care of them, since it�s not like Sophie would spend the extra cash to hire a maintenance person to do such things as, you know, maintenance. So now my office is dark, cold, and windowless, which might be a meta statement it's making about how I feel a little imprisoned here. Of course, the North Korea dream did that nicely as well. Looking at my desk, I can only guess that tonight I�ll be dreaming about getting buried alive. Fun!
Seriously, though. It�s time for them to hire somebody new around here. And it�s time for them to fucking back off my life for a second so I can breathe again. I�m starting to get these little panic attacks whenever I hear Sophie say, "I need you to do me another favor�" And why does she say "do me a favor" when what she really means is, "you�re my bitch, and I�m about to make you do some tricks, so get ready, bitch!" Also, how many tricks can I exactly do when my fingers are actually numb from the air conditioning?
Anyway, I�m getting sick of the favors. Now, if you�ll excuse me�I have work to do.
Someone Got Here By Searching For: "Miranda Rites" I�m Watching: The first half of Smallville, and I refuse to believe anyone as rich as Lex Luthor spent his twelfth birthday alone. At least half the mothers in the tri-county area would�ve forced their kids to attend, just to suck up. And: The American Idol results show. Bye John!