I’m a day away from my weekly one on one with the boss and all the productivity I could possibly have wrenched from my brain is gone. There’s a twisted husk of a project, some kind of funhouse mirror idea of a thing that will eventually come back to fuck me, but I’m ignoring it right now in the hopes that it will just get done by someone else or something.

Lunchtime. Welcome to the meeting that will not die. No action items, no goals. My team has no more involvement with this rollout. Primarily a grabass session for a project management team that doesn’t want to take on new work. Were there issues with the deployment? Which deployment. Oh, we’re talking about a different project now. I look at my calendar and notice this is scheduled to repeat until 2099. Meeting finally finishes up with some vaguely creepy talk between two folks who are hitting on each other from about 500 miles apart. Upside? No action items for me. Downside? 45 minutes every tuesday from here until 2099 means there’s 158 more solid days of this meeting left.

I hope I can retire before I’m 120.

Eating all vegetables and fruits makes me gassy as hell. I am putting up my mental forcefield so that nobody tries to come into the Cubicle of Flopstink.

I spent all last week convinced that next week was my vacation. I guess I figured it was some mid-month bonus week with 10 days in it or something. I considered calling in sick, but my brain just won’t let me do it. I think I’ll see if I can “work from home” Friday.

“Work from home” is secret code for take over the mean streets of Los Santos while Sametime is up. Occasionally, while Temple Drive Ballas bleed out into the hot concrete, I will make sure that I don’t have any new memos. I work hard to not answer the phone with “What’s crackin, Woozie”, or answer silly questions with “Does the pope shit in the woods?”, but every now and then, I’ll terminal into a server and kick someone out who has been idle on the console, and yell “I need that shit you drive.”. The dogs occasionally look up at me when this happens.

I have reached Hitman skill level. I can now lock on further away and fire faster.

The drama queen row is starting to really get going. Lots of inter-queen bitching. Glad I got out when I did, but sad to see a couple good folks get tied up in it. Tough to get a word out over in that aisle without getting a call from HR later.

Read a personals ad that said “Not 420 friendly, been there, time to grow up.” Struck me as pretty sad. First the indication that pot is for kids. Second, the indication that one must always be striving for maturity. Reminds me of all the times I’ve had that “when I was a child I thought as a child…” line laid on me by braindead assclowns. I haven’t smoked pot in a couple years, but if the opportunity were to come up, I’d probably do it again. Unless I was, you know, driving. Or at work or something.

Attention: Totally not jonesing for a fat bongrip.

And now it’s Wednesday Afternoon.