Broadway Baby
While at work, where I spend more time catching up on literature than I do working, today I received a package in a manila envelope. I excitedly tore into it, as opening it and carefully observing its contents would, in the very least, subtract five minutes from ‘work time’. Now what was inside was not weird (my health insurance card) although good timing for I suspect I might have mono. What was weird was when I began to open it-remember I was very excited to have a distraction because work is BORING with a capital ASS-I very clearly thought, “I hope this is Anthrax!” YES! Maybe a WMD or a WMPD (Weapon Of Mass Postal Destruction), but also a sure time waster as I would be transported to a local quarantine center and drilled by the FBI about my supposed link to Al Qaeda. I would assure the abnormally plain G-Men that I have no ties with said group, but I have seen Destiny’s Child in concert… does that count as a threat to national security?
I could ponder for days about who sent me Anthrax. I’d make an enormous list of suspects: My Friends-I know they secretly want my books and movies; My EX-Lovers-I know they know they not-so-secretly hate me and wish I would perish; My Parents-I’m their equivalent to a financial black hole; My Credit Card Company-trying to incapacitate me so they can finally charge me for late bill payment; My Boss-she figured out that I read during work and feign laughter at her jokes; Some Right Wing Political Group-they realized I will rise to power and unite the masses in an awe-inspiring way; Myself-to try to occupy any time at work with something else (quite like this post). I’m sure the list could go on.
I’ve noticed how my updates are not so much updates on my life (shut it, I DO have one) but more of seemingly funny accounts of things I conjure up between my new peak creative hours, 9-5. If you want an update, I hope this satisfies you: I am beginning my change into moving up, away, ahead and to better things. I see resistance from some people in my life, that is your choice, and I hope you can at least respect mine (read: no more anthrax attacks).
I could ponder for days about who sent me Anthrax. I’d make an enormous list of suspects: My Friends-I know they secretly want my books and movies; My EX-Lovers-I know they know they not-so-secretly hate me and wish I would perish; My Parents-I’m their equivalent to a financial black hole; My Credit Card Company-trying to incapacitate me so they can finally charge me for late bill payment; My Boss-she figured out that I read during work and feign laughter at her jokes; Some Right Wing Political Group-they realized I will rise to power and unite the masses in an awe-inspiring way; Myself-to try to occupy any time at work with something else (quite like this post). I’m sure the list could go on.
I’ve noticed how my updates are not so much updates on my life (shut it, I DO have one) but more of seemingly funny accounts of things I conjure up between my new peak creative hours, 9-5. If you want an update, I hope this satisfies you: I am beginning my change into moving up, away, ahead and to better things. I see resistance from some people in my life, that is your choice, and I hope you can at least respect mine (read: no more anthrax attacks).