Not your standard issue late twenty-something's blog.

Monday, June 07, 2004

Welcome back, welcome back, welcome back.

I originally started this blog in winter 2003. Remember that wicked snow storm? Back then I was online dating with a vengeance and sleeping with most of New York. I removed those old posts recently because my ex and I became friends and I feared he would find my blog and realize how much I'd missed him and what a pathetic, desperate sap our breakup had made me. 

Today was like any other Monday. Slow, sleepy, sluggish. There I was, sitting at a desk that I really couldn't call my own, staring at scraps of paper from the sixties and seventies that had been handled several hundreds of times by my asbestos litigation temp predecessors. . . when I went insane. It was all I could do not to laugh out loud and let out a nice, juicy fart brewing from the salad I'd just consumed. The air conditioning had me freezing, my nipples erect and the hair on my arms sticking straight up. I suddenly began to fantacize about running through the office, composed of 45 men and 5 women, of which I am one, brandishing only a pair of scissors and shrieking some sort of unintelligible warcry ending with "you fucking douchebags!"

This incident marked my first desire to do physical harm to people I actually know. Usually these tempests are reserved solely for the short, squat, elderly Asian women that crowd me as I attempt to get off the 7 train at Grand Central most mornings. I try to make my body as big as possible as I leave the train, fully taking as much space my body will allow. Them bitches are small,though. Small and quick. And they fill me with fury. I long to line them up in a row and, wielding my messenger bag and the strength of twelve men, knock them over like Dominoes. Nothing would make me happier.

Maybe I need a vacation. My handsome boyfriend is in Georgia right now. I
should be with him but temps don't get vacation time. He called me last night from a Tiki bar on a beach and then played poker till 3:30 a.m. I bought groceries and made a recipe from Shape magazine, producing food that was shockingly bland, the leftovers from which I took to work today, this insane Monday when I fantacized about my co-workers with the scissors in the tray on the desk that I can't quite call mine. Perhaps the remarkably flavorless food inspired my homicidal tendencies.


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