Monday, November 8, 2010

the morning after feel.

The time is 8:50 AM on a Saturday morning and I am a pitiful mess of a person staring at my computer screen with no product in my hair, sunglasses still on, and all the lights are out. Did I mention I was at work? That’s right. This dream of a job I have forces me, on occasion, to work on the day deemed for nothing. I kind of wish I was dead right now. Oh, did I mention I went out last night? I know this is all making sense in bits and pieces, but that’s where my head’s at right now…

Once I got over the emotional shock of seeing that picture and my heart started beating again, I was in the process of updating my status to something like ‘John Boerger has a four-alarm hangover at work. FML!’ to elicit some pity from anyone on facebook at this wretched hour. Then I realized that 1) Jason was never going to sign onto Google chat and I could close the browser and 2) the status was stupid and I started writing, still stupid, but it sure beats trying to figure out if my building has roof access to see if a six-story jump would make this all stop.

Then I thought, what is a four-alarm? What alarm is going off? Why are there four? And who is responding to said alarm? Unless the person responding has a time machine who can take pitiful now me to talk some sense into last night’s excited, gave into peer pressure me, I doubt said alarm would do much good. How did this saying come to be? Did one loser say it and I just caught on? It’s like ‘tardy for the party’ but lacks even less practical application, and it doesn’t rhyme… So thank goodness I didn’t make it my status, rather I dedicated two paragraphs to my crappiest post to date to this damned saying.

Speaking of sayings, I have learned that the ‘just a drink’ doesn’t exist. Also I learned I will never turn down a shot of tequila and setting any sort of deadline of when you have to go home is setting yourself up for a lot of self hate. I am seriously sucking at life right now. Sarah McLachlan’s public service announcement to her most depressing song about my morning is soon to air any minute now.

Hopefully something really greasy and fattening and a disco nap will make me up for the adventures left in store once I escape the death grip of adult responsibilities. If only if I could nap under my desk…

It’s 10:58 AM and I have successfully rammed my hips against every corner in my office, almost fell over in my cube (twice), and threw my coffee mug into the trashcan in the break room (in my mind, it was an empty bottle of coffee creamer). Boerger out.

UPDATE – 6 or 7 homemade brisket sandwiches, a family-sized bag of Cheetos, and a never-ending keg of Shiner Bock were the cure! Thanks, Emily!

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