It’s midnight. You stare at the ceiling wondering where Steve Jobs went and why you’re not sleeping. You try to think of nothing, which means you’re thinking of thinking, thus shooting your sheep in the feet. You finally fall asleep and then your bed shakes. Fluffy decided 1 a.m. is a great time for a lick bath. Kick the sheets to chase away the nocturnal nit, sigh, and roll over. Oh no, now you have to pee. Maybe it can wait. You’re getting up at 6:30, so there should be bladder room. Nope. You get up and pee.
Back to bed. Find the warm spot. Arrange the pillows. What time is it anyway? Oh God, don’t look. You don’t want to know. Sleep now. Please!
Argh! Where is that awful sound coming from? Your alarm clock? It can’t be 6:30. Oh, shit. It is. Five more minutes. This DJ is too bubbly. He must have gotten a good night’s sleep. Prick. We don’t care what happened on DWTS unless it involved aliens and blood spatter. 6:32. Three minutes. They play the same goddamn songs every morning. “Today will be a good day … today will be a good day.” How about a sick day? Ugh. 6:35. Get up.
Why does the hot water take so long to get here? Great, the shampoo is almost out. Shake it like ketchup. Why don’t they make the top flat so it can be set on end? Stupid fucking engineers. If you try to wash your feet, you’ll probably fall, crack your skull, and eat your remaining meals through a straw. What would blended prime rib taste like? Yuck. Ouch, now you got shampoo in your eye. Nice move.
No time for a complete breakfast. Stop at Starbucks and grab a fritter and a joe to go. What’s that white spot on your slacks? Toothpaste? Christ. Lick and wipe. Holy shit, you have two different socks on. That woman coming this way is cute. Smile. Don’t look down. Stay eye-level. She smiled back. Ah, it is going to be a good day. Check out her ass. Nice, except her friend caught you doing it and is telling her how much of a colorblind creepy swine you are. Well played.
Be a nice person and hold the door. You dropped your phone. Good thing you have that armor on it. Bend down, pick it up, and drop your sunglasses. They don’t have armor, but now they have a pupil-centered scratch. Get to your desk before you’re buried in an avalanche.
So much junk mail. Why is the computer so slow? Ugh. HR is annoying. Add a snarky remark-y and forward that silly meeting reminder to your pal. Uh oh. Check your sent messages. You hit reply instead of forward. Fuck! Send the “just kidding” message and begin formulating apologies.
That looks like an interesting email from Gail. Could that be the Gail from happy hour? Click and nope, it’s an ad for the penis pump “guaranteed to add two inches.” Great. The IT guys will have a hoot with that one.