The Unholy trinity has descended upon me this week. I have my monthly visitor, (if this grosses you out go away. and a pox of constipation on your house too because I am suffering and you dare be grossed out) some sort of bronchial issue and work is ridiculously slammin', like turning it sideways and sticking it where the sun don't shine style. What a horrible time for these 3 to converge as I have never needed sleep as much or as badly as I do right now, and literally I can not take a minute to slow down. And I don't even have sexy cold voice. I have stupid whiny punctuated by racking phlegm producing coughs voice. Gross.
It started monday when I made the mistake of answering the phone at 7am, and was on the f'ing call until 4pm. I had cauliflower ear from my headset (would you like fries with that?) and then I was finally able to take a hot shower to clear up some of the phlegm settling in the lungs, only to get another call at 430 informing me I had to head down to NSI for a 5pm meeting. That's right. Because they can't crush my soul during the 9-5, so they're taking it overtime. Bastards. I reluctantly agreed to go to the stupid meeting (read: had no choice and was forced to by the people who give me money) and apparently was a little "bolder" than normal in some of my declarations. But whatever. You want to talk nonsense and shit, do it in your time, or during business hours and I will plaster on the dumb little smile you know and love and pretend to listen, and possibly pretend to care, depending on your title and whether it starts with C or VP. If I'm coming to see you after what any normal fucking person in the world considers the close of business, I expect efficiency. and I demanded it at this meeting and I got it. Sometimes being the only girl on the committee full of married men is nice, because I know they all know "the voice" and clearly also know when I am not kidding, and not to be messed with. And by and large, married men are just that *little* bit more defeated than the singles, so you can be kind of bitchy and they just sigh and go along with it.
I knew the maxin and relaxin of last week was too good to be true, and as such it has in fact come to an end. A rather abrupt end. A rude, rude, rude, end. and I miss it, and want it back. However the upshot of this is that I know next week when I am feeling better, and Aunt Flo has packed her stupid bags and left me alone, I will feel like a million bucks. and possibly have coping skills, and maybe maybe maybe I will even be pleasant. But not too pleasant. I like to keep the bar set low.
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