Here comes the sun (doo doo doo doo).

For the first time in months, I’m inhaling a large mug of coffee at my desk instead of tea.

This is because I had the nerve to somehow get 4 1/2 hours of sleep last night instead of the usual 3, and if there’s one thing my body hates, it’s when I try and do something nice for it like give it an extra hour and a half to rest and recuperate. So of course now instead of feeling refreshed I’m actually more tired, because reasons, and coffee is the only thing keeping me from passing right out on my keyboard and getting an ‘i’ in my eye.

I’m also currently on the tail end of a nasty two week illness that I can only describe as some kind of unholy viral cold-flu-gastroenteritis ménage à trois, and the fear that any particularly forceful cough might cause me to accidentally shit myself is still very real and present.

Speaking of shit, Madam Rorschach is up to her old antics again (after a lengthy and much appreciated stretch of hibernation) and has resumed laying waste to the office restroom as though she’s in competition with the US election over who can make the world a less pleasant place to live in. Her timing is impeccable, since between the plague ménage and that old bitch Aunt Flo showing her ugly face in town this past week, this Nut has had ample need to visit the workplace commode and then some.

Finally, in the First World Problems category of suck, it appears that my favorite suede boots in the whole wide world have finally reached a state of shabbiness I can’t ignore – despite my best efforts at denial – and will have to be sent off to live on a farm. So today is their last hurrah; one final day of clackety-clacking around town with me before we part ways forever.

TL;DR: I’m beyond tired, multiple things are shitty, and my most beloved boots have one foot in the grave.

So naturally, I’m…elated?

It started Wednesday. I found myself grinning out of nowhere, for no other reason I can think of except that I was alive.

And even though Wednesdays are the day that the Boss Lady comes in to pick apart my weekly reports and throw all our company policies into a tumult in her efforts to make things more efficient around here, I still left the office wearing that same stupid grin, and it’s yet to waver for so much as a second.

I honestly can’t remember the last time I was this happy ‘just because’. It feels almost ridiculous, in the best possible way. All the little things I habitually take inventory of to remind myself that life is worth living have suddenly been amplified to Giant Heaps of Amazeballs level awesome, practically throwing themselves in my path to the extent that it’s only a matter of time before I convert to Orthodox Disney and just start spontaneously bursting out into song.

I don’t know how long this will last or what convinced the storm clouds in my brain to suddenly part and offer up this glittering ray of sunshine, but thank you. Thank you for the light.

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The unbearable liftlessness of being.

2015 is going to get better, right?

Right?

Okay, so it’s not my worst start to a year ever. There was that one vacation with my parents where we all spent New Year’s Day sweating equally from the flu and the desert heat of southern California and taking turns puking our guts out. This year I at least had the sense to wait until I was due back at work before getting horribly ill.

(Apologies to anyone who did spend their New Year’s puking their guts out…I know there were a lot of you.)

Nonetheless, things aren’t looking too great.

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The return of Madam Rorschach.

Remember how I told you about Madam Rorschach’s unsavory oeuvres d’art? And how she was coming back from vacation after two weeks of the office toilet being spoiled spotless?

Well, either she was suffering from a creative block (mental or physical, take your pick) or just decided to give the toilet and I a grace period to readjust to her presence, because her first week back came and went without any new additions to the Sistine Crapper. And silly me, I made a terrible mistake. I got my hopes up that maybe, just maybe, she had had some miraculous epiphany during her time away and realized that the art world was not for her after all.

Live and learn, people, live and learn. Because today I discovered…

This is what I get for being an optimist.

Even so, I’m suitably impressed that she made it through a whole week without any displays of shartistry. Maybe I’ll bake her a cake to commemorate the achievement.

Although a bran muffin might be more appropriate.

We need to talk about toilets.

Warning: this post primarily concerns bodily functions. I’m sorry, I know we’re still just getting to know each other and I’m springing bathroom talk on you already, but I never promised this blog would be pretty.

You see, my office has an “artist” in its midst. A Jackson Pollock imitator most foul. Her canvas, the loo; her medium, poo.

…I sincerely apologize for that, but I couldn’t resist the rhyme.

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