I could really use a break now

In all senses of the term.

The office pitched in together to buy lottery tickets. It would be very nice if we won. Heck, I wouldn't even turn up my nose at a few hundred dollars. Heck, even fifty extra dollars would be nice. Extra money, no matter what the amount, is always nice.

So, the way it always happens when I buy a lottery ticket, I've started building my castles in spain. You know, that happy little fantasy world in which I actually have the money to do the stuff I'd like to do with my life: buy my parents a house in France, get my own place, pay off all my bills, what have you.

I could go on at length, but I won't.

What I'd really like now is a vacation. Somewhere that involves a sunny beach and turquoise water and not too many tourists.

After that, I'd opt for the kind of vacation with a large amount of forest and/or river, and lots of trekking and camping and hiking. I want to be outside, dammit, and not stuck inside this stupid little cubicle, no matter how "open concept" this damned office is meant to be.

I have spoken. :P

Paved with good intentions, and so forth

What the hell ever happened to my resolution not to date anyone more broken than myself?

This cryptic entry has been brought to you by the letters O and C, and by the number 0.

Small work rant

Dear Assistant E,

I cannot read your mind. Walking up to me and handing me a stack of papers and then walking away without saying anything does not help me do my job better. For the love of all that's good and holy, please please please tell me what you want. Photocopies? Messenger services? What?

No love,

Me


Dear TMIM,

Please stop telling me every detail of your life. I don't care. Also, please stop hovering over my desk and asking every ten minutes whether I've finished your filing. I haven't finished. In fact, I haven't started because I have several rush jobs to do first. Then I have other filing, and a report to fill out. Then, and only then, will I get to your filing. All you're doing is wasting my time and stressing me out. Also, explaining in detail what you've supposedly done all day to make my life "easier" does not actually help me. It's very nice of you to think of that, but it doesn't make a difference, and you're getting on my nerves.

Still no love,

Me


Dear Managers,

Yes, all of you.

Would you please God answer your goddamned phones? If L or I call you on the intercom, it's not because we're getting a kick out of bugging you while you're trying to work. It's because there is a genuine issue of importance that needs to be addressed now rather than later. I swear to God.

Even less love,

Me