I gotta tell you, twenty-some days in this NaBloPoMo thing, and I’m starting to get really annoyed. I know it’s a good writing practice and all that, but still, there are times when you want to come home from work and recline on the couch and watch bad TV. This is one of these nights. I was on my feet for two straight hours handing my fellow employees water and later serving rice. This is one of the joys of being management. It was Employee Appreciation Day and as managers we got to sling a healthy, but uninspired meal upon the staff’s plates. It wasn’t a bad gig, but standing for two hours straight with no breaks is hard on the feet. My guess this was merely preparation for our next management perk – staffing the Saturday flu clinics. What with the economy the way it is, we don’t want to pay staff overtime to work the Saturday flu clinics, so who are they getting? That’s right, the salaried management staff. Oh, and nurses. There will be nurses and stuff doing all the shooting. Of shots. Injecting vaccine. But, they are called Shooters. I tend to find nurses scary enough (don’t ask), but calling them Shooters even adds to my fear of nurses.
See this is what happens when write just for the sake of writing. Oh, yeah, so I come home to a message from the boyfriend, who in a post from last week I affectionately referred to as a “dork”. Yes, I am aware that dork is also a slang term for penis. But, I couldn’t call him a “nerd” or a “geek” because that presupposes that the person is computer literate. So, I come home, my feet hurting from standing and I’m late because I had to go to the grocery store or the rabbits would revolt (seriously, don’t piss off the rabbits – you’ve seen Monty Python and the Holy Grail and the bit about the killer rabbit? That part could have been a documentary). There’s a message on my phone from the boyfriend. His favorite website is displaying all wonky. Can I help him? Seriously, his lack of computer savvy is one of his least attractive traits, and when I’m hungry and tired and feeling resentful that I have to write and I really shouldn’t be eating this late at night, but I haven’t had dinner yet . . . what? Oh. Yeah. Christ! What is that smell? Oh Tangerine, what in the hell did you eat? Needless to say, (but I will anyway) it was a short phone call.
I need to go make some dinner and lay down on the couch STAT.
Now, don’t you miss my lame haikus?