My Work Is Trying To Kill Me...

The title of this blog is actually a plea.
While I have your attention, please, call the Humane Society and report to them that you've been made aware of an old dog that is being mistreated!
Seriously, this picture to the left is a picture of me after work today.
Because of a confluence of about nineteen unfortunate things, coupled with the fact that even at the best of times my workplace is a living hell and virtual realm of Unending Torment, I am in the midst of one of the worst work weeks ever.
I am saying all of this to justify the nakedness of my blog, I guess.
I'm out of gas. The tank is empty.
Like tonight for example, worked from 8 a.m. till 8 p.m.
I could not even bring myself to go to Starbucks after work and read. No energy. None.
Just came home to my cat, Jack. And talked with him a bit.
Bulldog to Ragdoll!

So, please be patient with me.
This blogpage usually reflects the true state of my Inner Comedian and/or Inner Book Enthusiast.
But right now, both of these personas are wondering which bridge they should jump off of.
I'll be back. I'll be back. I'm going to get some medication.
In the meantime I am thinking of something that the legendary Robert Frost once said:
"By working faithfully eight hours a day, you may eventually get to be a boss and work twelve hours a day."
Hmmm... all I know for sure is that I worked a full twelve hours today, and I sure ain't no boss!
Two roads diverged in a wood.
I took the one more WORKED upon!

All the best to you!
May you never find yourself in a place of employment, as relentless, as unrelenting as my own.
Cheers!
-- Cip

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