this thing we do to get money for that little drinking problem we might or might not admit to. this thing we do to pass the time from one weekend's drunken debauchery to the next. this thing that, if we're very very lucky (or deluded), is supposed to elevate us, bring us pride and a sense of accomplishment.
lately i greet each and every workday morning with a heartfelt (if somewhat hoarse) "fuck." no exclamation point for a reason - i cannot muster up enough energy for an exclamation point. it's a quarter after five, there is snow on the ground, the local assholes are warming up their gigantic diesel trucks, i cannot afford an exclamation point. an exclamation point would push me over the edge. there'd be guns involved. lots of blood. incoherent cursing in multiple languages. i try to keep it even-keeled, so it's just that dispirited little "fuck."
lately, in my path to yogic benevolence and peace, i've tried replacing the "fuck" with a sense of thankfulness for still being alive and all, but, hot dawg, the things i am thankful for lately do not include work, and work is precisely where i'm off to. fuck.
do you want to know how bad it is? two days ago i did not bring lunch and popped into the gas station next door where i purchased a bag of doritos. for lunch. for me. this is a shocking and unprecedented development. coworkers stared and offered to call 911.
the following day i went to the store directly after work and bought frozen chicken wings (for mister monkey), frozen pizza, frozen mac'n cheese, frozen cheese sticks and a big bag of tortilla chips. sure they were the multigrain "healthy" variety, but that's just like saying sugarfree pop is good for you. or that guns don't kill people. or that hitler liked dogs. these are not good signs. so yes, things are bad.
there is a staff meeting this sunday night (presumably because it is way more fun to spend the evening discussing issues that will still be dealt with in the way chosen by the powers that be, but hurray for the illusion of democracy, than it is to sip a nice merlot on the couch with the beloved spouse).
having been notified of the meeting, i promptly called mister monkey and gave him a warning that i might very well lose it, start yelling at people and quit my job on sunday. he's ok with that.