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post #70
bio: stu

wish list
first post
that week
my links

Favorite Things
· The Flaming R. Kelly
· Malfatti
· Johnny Cash
· Chuck Klosterman
· Deadwood, Seasons 1 & 2

Previous Posts
Notes on Sobriety
Republicans Are Tough Guys
Brain Fog
Clown Posse
Uber, but For Wrong Numbers
On the Greatest Political Satire of the 21st Century


Category List
February Smackdown
Literary Shit
Mad Craziness
Random 10


One of my co-workers, upon my apology for some random violence against a filing cabinet, told me that she wasn't really worried about my violent outbursts; she had thought it out, and thought she could take me. There's something comforting about the fact that my co-workers have a contingency plan in place on the off-chance that I snap and need to be taken care of quickly and without fuss. Though it'd be more gratifying to learn they had a syringe of Thorazine lying somewhere for my breakdown, because I could get hurt in a scuffle. As nice as it would be to have my fingers broken and not have to do any data entry for six to eight weeks, I'd really miss all the other things I do with my fingers. Like, ummm, write. Shuffle. Count without taking my shoes off. Things like that.

That they have a plan is unsurprising, now that I think of it. I've often worried that my co-workers are slightly afraid of me; they met me at a very bad time, after all, since my entire department had been decimated by promotions and people leaving the organization, I was the only employee left to do the work of four people at the close of a fiscal year. And then they weathered an attempt to quit smoking by me that left me as Nicotine Bereft Stu (now with tar-stained bird flipping action!), which is a variant on Surly Sleep-Deprived Stu. So I was even more cranky than normal.

But I've been in a good mood for the last couple of weeks--or at least as good of a mood as I get when I'm forced to get up on 5 hours of sleep to do a job that mostly bores me. So while I may go on one of my fairly normal rants at work, about, say, how stupid guys look when they flip the collars up on their ugly polo shirts like they're some reject from the set of "Blade Runner," my reputation for being a cantankerous bastard you have to tiptoe around is just shot. It'll take weeks of kicking puppies and swearing for me to build it back up.

And what's to blame for this irritatingly good mood? Well, I'm sure there are a number of factors, but I'm sure, despite all the complications surrounding it, this has something to do with it:

Yes, dammit, that's a smile on my face!

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