New Year's Eve and it's hard to believe
another zodiac has gone around.

While you drank yourself high on hoping
and watched the ceiling spin from the ground.

Counting down from ten it's time
to make your annual prayer.

Secret santa in the sky
when will I get my share?

Then you tell yourself
what you want to hear.

Cause you have to believe.

This will be my year.

This will be my year...Semisonic


Go Ahead Punk: E-Mail Little Squaw @ squawpunch@hotmail.com

AIM: gimletgurl7 (Remember when she used to be here?)

Thursday, December 18, 2003

Okay, I am on the better side of the head cold and now Gil has a sore throat UGH. One more day at work! It's going to be hellish but I am damn ready to do a happy dance right out the door. YIPPEE!!!

If there's any doubt that I need out, let me tell you about my day today. Or at least a small part of it which is clearly representative of the kind of days I've been having. Our dept. took it upon themselves to decide to have a "Potluck" lunch. Now I'll be the first to tell you I don't like that sort of thing. There are too many potential issues floating around home cooked food and people picking at dishes in the open during FLU SEASON. Anyway having been a bit reclusive lately (for good reason)...One reason being last night I came home and said to Gilly, "I am so tired of working with bunch of fucking liars! They stand there and look me straight in the eye and lie. It's unbelievable!" Sorry for the language but I have to be true. I never lie. I am a straight shooter to a fault. But my rant was based on a situation where I knew someone was lying and I gave them a clear opportunity to tell me the truth and they didn't. They took the rope and hung themselves instead of using it to pull themselves out of the hole they had dug. Okay enough of that.

I decided to be a team player so last night I made scotcharoos (s?) really easy fast and enough sugar in them to send any sane person into a coma. So I stopped at the grocery store on my way home to get ingredients. I was a bit irked because I couldn't get regular rice crispies because they only had the "holiday" version which meant red. I try to avoid extra colorings and such in my food and I was tired so that really irritated me. But anyway, I made two batches last night and brought them into work this morning. I also brought with me a very very very sharp knife because I needed to cut them into tiny squares. (I couldn't do it last night because the chocolate on top had to set.) So this morning when I get to work I start to cut them up. Those things are very difficult to cut because they are pretty solid. So when I am finished I look at my left hand (I am left handed) and my index finger is covered in blood and chocolate. Literally there's blood gushing out of my finger. Near as I can tell I had a scratch on my finger and the effort of pushing down opened it up. And here's where my moral self pushes to the front. I look at my finger. I look at the knife. The handle is covered in blood and it appears to be dripping onto the blade. I couldn't believe how red it was. I look at the squares. They are a. covered with very dark chocolate and b. have made almost entirely of red cereal. Hmmmmm, it didn't look like there was any blood. If there was you certainly couldn't see it, now could you? I don't really feel like a team player nor do I feel very loving to my co-workers at the moment. I look at the knife. It's totally covered in trace evidence. I know I don't have any major blood diseases 'cause I've been tested and such. I remember the time we saw the kid at church yanking on his bloody tooth and then extending his hand during the "sign of peace" towards Gilly's 97 year old grandfather who was practically blind. I remember pulling his hand away to avoid contact and Gilly whispering to me"BLOOD BORN PATHOGENS!" I look at the squares. I look at the knife. I think I have a couple of hours to think this over and I go and wash my hands and apply a bandaid.

I get sucked into a meeting from hell and saddled with extremely unrealistic deadlines. I close my door and quietly contemplate what a failure I feel that I have become. I have a small break down. I call Gilly. Gilly is just one of those people who can make it all better by virtue of always telling me the truth whether it's what I want to hear or not. I calm down. I rue the day I ever let this job break me. I never used to be like this. I hate what I feel that I've been reduced to. I have a brief conversation with Gert via messenger where she tells me, "Reading your blog is just like talking to you. It sounds exactly like your voice." I tell her, "Well that's good because you and Gillare the only people who read it so I am happy that the right person is talking." she responds, "You need better advertising!"

I look at the knife. I look at my bandaid. I look at the clock. It's time for the "Potluck." I think of how much I despise this kind of thing. Or at least how much I do right about now, given the current circumstances and the way that I am feeling. It's time for the "Potluck." I stand up. I bend over. I pick up the squares...

I throw them away.

Oh you were nervous weren't you? You thought I might put them on the table huh? Sicko. Why the hell would I want to share my precious blood and my DNA with that crew? Plus the story was way funnier than the guilt would have been. So I shared that for a few giggles.

I am beyond exhausted. I can barely see straight. One more day. Just one more day and I can pitter patter about to my heart's content.


posted by JustKeepMum on 11:15 PM