If This Were Life's Only Reward.

I actually managed to flip my frozen steak fries last night before passing out and cremating the living shit out of them. The exhaustion was at such a paralyzing level that I hardly noticed. I simply registered relief and not a small amount of concern that the smoke alarm did not go off and proceeded to shovel some peanut butter pretzel nuggets into my gob and then went about my comatose self. When I woke the next morning I couldn't handle anything more sophisticated than a Sumatra Blend K-Cup and extreme business casual. This is all just another paragraph in another chapter of the handbook of holding my shit together.

I'm now taking a clickety-clackety-barge of shame from the Westside to the East which is in no way as shameful as the inverse, but it still wears on one. This morning someone made an obvious spectacle of themselves being distressed by my liberal dousing of Calvin Klein Escape. All I could do is smile because I knew that bus was going to fill up by Crenshaw and although the shame of the clickety-clackety barge may have diminished the aroma in no way has and wherever this prima donna plopped himself away from my offensive miasma was about to be positively vaporized with stench. I get so few satisfactions from my commute I have to take them where I find them.

All of this comes on the heels of yesterday which was capped off by a tee-total work-place meltdown in the classical articulation. It may be too traumatic to recount the entire episode, but it involved a mislaid lunch in a much adored vintage Tupperware which was blasted on email as a fiendish theft of the most heinous kind perpetrated by the lowest of human abomination. Had I but a bit of timber and some nails I could have positively crucified myself right there in the lunch room and just let the villains just see what they had done every time they came in to snack away their shame.

In short, the lunch and the Tupperware were not stolen, merely mislaid, but that didn't stop me from losing my shit, demolishing the kitchen refrigerator like a demented squirrel, sending off furious emails, going the Happy Hour, and coming back to my desk to sulk and also according to HR whom I obviously neglected to CC on my eRage, update my W2. I can't even text anybody a Friyay because I have to do this shit through the weekend.