If I Had My Own Office…

I would have a couch in it.  Something big and leathery. 

I don’t find leather couches more comfortable than other ones, but I find they look more elegant – and perhaps, in the context of an office, more professional.

Every Friday, I’d tell whomever else worked in the building that I need two uninterrupted hours to “work.”  I wouldn’t say what I was doing, I’d be vague and mysterious.  People would be intrigued, or annoyed.

No, they probably would be more annoyed than anything else.

They’d all be like, “that girl is very strange.”

I’d then take two hours and sleep. 

I accidentally dozed off (for less than 10 minutes) on the mini-couch in the lunchroom today.  When someone came in, I was embarrassed.  Yet, the tiny nap was refreshing, and I enjoyed it while it lasted. 

Should I ever work in an office again – and find myself with a room to call my own – I’m getting a couch and I’m sleeping on it during my Friday lunch break.

Make no mistake about that.

You’re All a Bunch of Dirty Hookers!

No, but for real – you are (and that’s okay).

Despite the fact that I haven’t updated in about a month, I had 15 hits yesterday (I usually average 2-5 a day).  I am able to see the words people type into search engines that lead them to my cozy neck of the Internet woods (a nifty WordPress feature, to be sure).  Today, I saw the following:

	2
naked vacation photos	2
hot slutz	1
there a feeling i get when i look to the	1
squeeze heavy sweaty balls	1
thoughts of a wayward nature	1
slob on my neck like corn on the cob	1
religion + kink	1
very hot nacked picture in nature	1
jump on the bed and give me head dont ha

I like “squeeze heavy sweaty balls” the best.  It’s not something I would ever think to punch into a search engine.  I haven’t much interest in sweaty balls, or heavy ones.  Balls, I think, are utilitarian rather than ornamental.  The same could be said for any body part, but most people think of breasts as decorations rather than biologically-necessary appendages.  I’d wager a guess that testicle fetishes are almost entirely exclusive to the gay community (but I could be mistaken).

I like that someone searched for “Religion + Kink.”  Those two tend to walk hand in hand on occasion, ironically enough. 

I’ve come to a realization recently.

I have achieved nothing in my life.

I possess a worthless and meaningless degree that’s been given to mass numbers of people stupider and less motivated than myself.  An arts degree is like a happy meal – if you can afford it, you can have it.  You can have six or seven, if you’re feeling peckish enough.  It’s a shame, really.  The arts do mean something.  They are, indeed, important. 

It’s a disheartening how few career academics take them seriously enough to guard them from flagrant idiots who fail – time and time again – to understand them. 

I’m not saying I’m brilliant, but I did appreciate what I studied.  I did, at times, care enough to try.  I could have, instead, written essays so horrific they bordered on obscene.  I would still have that $20,000 piece of paper hanging on my wall.

So yeah, I’m going back to school.  I’m a hypocrite, I guess.  And, well, I’m getting a little desperate for gainful employment (and easy access to a potential job). 

I’m happy to be going back, because I really do hate my job.

Being here depresses me.  I feel very hopeless and useless and devoid of passion.  The heavy fog of circumstantial depression tends to lift on the weekends, so I attribute my general  malaise to my off-white surroundings throughout the week.  If I stay here for too long, I’ll only be able to talk about the mysterious picnic at the bank last Wednesday.  And the various health complaints of the aging courier with a penchant for peanut M&Ms (we have a candy machine). And the difference between Tazo and Tetley teas.  And the horrible pain of pricking yourself with an industrial-size staple that’s come loose within its papery confines.

I can’t do this for much longer.

And I won’t be.

I hope to spend many of my luscious Friday nights in a semi-far away city come September.  A cute basement apartment with a tiny bathroom will be a nice change of scenery (despite my love of big, roomy bathrooms).

I’ll also look forward to uninterrupted “prviate time.”  You know, the kind free of intruders who gasp and giggle and say that they’ll leave once they use the bathroom “quick-time.”

On an unrelated (yet sad) note, I’ll bid a great man adieu.

George Carlin, it seems, has left us.  He was funny, but truly brilliant.  He was one of the few who told us all to stop caring about shit that doesn’t matter, and to care about shit that does.

A wise man, indeed – and one who will be missed.