08 July 2010

My version of therapy.

Holy shit. I was having a horrible day today. Deadlines and ridiculous requests piled up on a short week and too much other work. Add into that my ridiculously slow computer and a hot office and I was on the verge of punching someone or tossing my computer out the window.

(When my coworkers were talking about how hot our little sleeve of cubes was, I had to literally bite my tongue to not scream at them, "Maybe if you didn't have to have those goddamn blinds open while the sun was beating down through the windows, it WOULDN'T BE SO GODDAMN HOT IN HERE!")

As it was, I threw my mouse a few times. Not too far, of course, because I didn't want to get in trouble. Also, I had a lot of work to do, so I kinda needed to not break shit.

Anyway, I stayed late at work, then I was almost home and realized I needed to go to Walgreens (my own personal Hell) to pick up my thyroid meds. By the time I got home and was getting ready to go to the gym, I was so ready to just fucking stay home. But no! I can see improvement. My time at the gym is working. I must go. So, I did. And I worked the fuck out.

By the time I got home, I'd nearly forgotten about my stupid job and the fact that I will almost certainly get yelled at by Chicken Little tomorrow for not doing a perfect job on a question he very nearly turned down because it was SO FUCKING RIDICULOUS.

However, the hour I spent cleaning my CSA vegetables (also drinking; watching the Simpsons and 2 Stupid Dogs -- it was "Cookies, Ookies, Blookies"; and cooking up the rest of my fingerlings) really completed the coming-down-back-to-normal phase. There's something so satisfying about seeing all that sand and grit at the bottom of my salad spinner. Nothing like a little dirt to bring you back to Earth, right?

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