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vianegativaYesterday was not my favorite fucking Monday.
Work itself was fine and my assistant was spot-on, as always, but after HOO-BOY. After work was like being beaten into unconciousness by Sean Penn with a pillow full of soda cans.
I had taken a break to inquire after Dr. Tom as to why my eyes were burning out of their sockets and red; I got the expected diagnosis of pink eye and handed a prescription for some lovely Tobradex, an eye antibiotic apparently engineered to cause maximum discomfort when combined with, say, glaucoma medicines.
Which I take.
So. Raw in my misery I did a little retail therapy at a Waldenbooks & picked up Stephen Crane's The Red Badge of Courage and Maggie as well as the latest issue of Dungeon, which was well done but rather unimpressive at first glance. I was really looking for the seventh book in Stephen King's Dark Tower series, but no joy there. I grabbed some healthy slop from what may have been the slowest Taco Bell in Chicago and slinked back to work.
Work afterwards consisted mainly of me answering questions brokers already had the answer to in e-mails I sent them but they had opted not to read. Having driven in to avoid being late, I climbed in to my '95 Chevy Astro "Party-in-the-Back" Van and joined the lemming-lanes on 290. Somewhere near Oak Brook I got the idea that any respectable Barnes & Noble would have The Dark Tower, so I detoured to the one nearest my house.
Zero joy there too, but I did pick up a book of six Ibsen plays, a signed copy of EE Knight's new Vampire Earth novel, and Charles Bukowski's Slouching Towards Nirvana, all of which I can read as a reward AFTER I lay my righteous fury upon my lovely e-Commerce homework. By that time, my brain started unravelling with a headache made so much more worse by the various drops I'm taking. I tried to muck about on City of Heroes, but my eyes started giving me what for, so I slept. It was the kind of restless sleep you have when in a fever state of worried about the tax man... half-hearted and just below the surface of getting a good nights sleep.
So, here I am today, a complete fucking wreck. I want to pull out my eyeballs and toss them at Rude Homeless Mama near my train...
No, I don't have a heart today. Try some eyes.
... and I'm at work, of course. Simple masochism, but thoroughly me none the less. My head is pretty much splitting, light hurts my eyes, and I'm friendly as a snarling badger that's just gotten off a coke binge with Lindsey Lohan & Nicole Richie. That's ok though. Why, you may ask?
Shit, I forgot why. Somebody gimme a reason, quick.
Work itself was fine and my assistant was spot-on, as always, but after HOO-BOY. After work was like being beaten into unconciousness by Sean Penn with a pillow full of soda cans.
I had taken a break to inquire after Dr. Tom as to why my eyes were burning out of their sockets and red; I got the expected diagnosis of pink eye and handed a prescription for some lovely Tobradex, an eye antibiotic apparently engineered to cause maximum discomfort when combined with, say, glaucoma medicines.
Which I take.
So. Raw in my misery I did a little retail therapy at a Waldenbooks & picked up Stephen Crane's The Red Badge of Courage and Maggie as well as the latest issue of Dungeon, which was well done but rather unimpressive at first glance. I was really looking for the seventh book in Stephen King's Dark Tower series, but no joy there. I grabbed some healthy slop from what may have been the slowest Taco Bell in Chicago and slinked back to work.
Work afterwards consisted mainly of me answering questions brokers already had the answer to in e-mails I sent them but they had opted not to read. Having driven in to avoid being late, I climbed in to my '95 Chevy Astro "Party-in-the-Back" Van and joined the lemming-lanes on 290. Somewhere near Oak Brook I got the idea that any respectable Barnes & Noble would have The Dark Tower, so I detoured to the one nearest my house.
Zero joy there too, but I did pick up a book of six Ibsen plays, a signed copy of EE Knight's new Vampire Earth novel, and Charles Bukowski's Slouching Towards Nirvana, all of which I can read as a reward AFTER I lay my righteous fury upon my lovely e-Commerce homework. By that time, my brain started unravelling with a headache made so much more worse by the various drops I'm taking. I tried to muck about on City of Heroes, but my eyes started giving me what for, so I slept. It was the kind of restless sleep you have when in a fever state of worried about the tax man... half-hearted and just below the surface of getting a good nights sleep.
So, here I am today, a complete fucking wreck. I want to pull out my eyeballs and toss them at Rude Homeless Mama near my train...
No, I don't have a heart today. Try some eyes.
... and I'm at work, of course. Simple masochism, but thoroughly me none the less. My head is pretty much splitting, light hurts my eyes, and I'm friendly as a snarling badger that's just gotten off a coke binge with Lindsey Lohan & Nicole Richie. That's ok though. Why, you may ask?
Shit, I forgot why. Somebody gimme a reason, quick.
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no subject
Date: 2006-06-13 03:07 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-06-13 03:55 pm (UTC)No accounting for American tastes.
no subject
Date: 2006-06-13 03:56 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-06-13 04:12 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-06-13 03:07 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-06-13 11:19 pm (UTC)