Awakening to the evil bemoanings of Alanis Morrissette at 6:30 am five days a week is not what I would refer to as "appealing." Of course, I could change the AM frequency on my alarm clock, but I would only surrender my blissful REM stages to AC/DC or Aerosmith. Either way, it's painful!
Selecting an appropriate ensemble is also quite a disheartening adventure. Who the hell put all of my clothes in the dryer at the highest heat setting possible and shrink them so that only a short anorexic could wear them well? Alright, so I put on a few pounds. But, it's always easier to point the finger elsewhere, n'est pas? (Just ask Former Boss. I'm sure he'll concur fervently. Well, he would if he had a dictionary!)
Hoping that my aging TBird will turn over on the first attempt is just one of those scenarios I just don't wish to face regularly. Mostly because it's a futile hope, and it often requires patience and a spare set of keys as I often lock myself out.
Facing morning drive time is also a non-enviable position, when and if I am able to motivate the TBird into action. Ladies, the rearview mirror was not created with the sole intention of morning make-up application. It was strategically placed in your car so that you can easily view me venting my anger towards your lack of driving skills.
Should I survive all of these obstacles to my sanity and happiness, what do I have to anticipate? Eight hours of the mundane, interspersed with a plethora of stupid questions. Moments of true clarity (yeah, right!) only interrupted by the torrent of apathy from co-workers. Objectives quashed by the narrow-minded, lazy peons with which I am surrounded.
I wave my white flag.
Selecting an appropriate ensemble is also quite a disheartening adventure. Who the hell put all of my clothes in the dryer at the highest heat setting possible and shrink them so that only a short anorexic could wear them well? Alright, so I put on a few pounds. But, it's always easier to point the finger elsewhere, n'est pas? (Just ask Former Boss. I'm sure he'll concur fervently. Well, he would if he had a dictionary!)
Hoping that my aging TBird will turn over on the first attempt is just one of those scenarios I just don't wish to face regularly. Mostly because it's a futile hope, and it often requires patience and a spare set of keys as I often lock myself out.
Facing morning drive time is also a non-enviable position, when and if I am able to motivate the TBird into action. Ladies, the rearview mirror was not created with the sole intention of morning make-up application. It was strategically placed in your car so that you can easily view me venting my anger towards your lack of driving skills.
Should I survive all of these obstacles to my sanity and happiness, what do I have to anticipate? Eight hours of the mundane, interspersed with a plethora of stupid questions. Moments of true clarity (yeah, right!) only interrupted by the torrent of apathy from co-workers. Objectives quashed by the narrow-minded, lazy peons with which I am surrounded.
I wave my white flag.
No comments:
Post a Comment