Work...and a Pink Unicorn

I have a cheap wine headache. The worst part is, I look like I have a cheap wine headache. But do you know what cures a cheap wine headache? Super expensive martinis! And do you know what day it is? Super expensive martini day! YAY!

I’m really bored. I opted out of a mandatory meeting because, as far as I am concerned, I am no longer the property of this department and I would rather drink Drano than have to sit in a room with all of those bastards for an hour. So, I am sitting at my desk listening to Morrissey and wondering why there is a pink, vinyl unicorn on top of my filing cabinet. I noticed it yesterday. I stood up and turned my head and saw a two foot tall, hot pink unicorn towering over me. Staring at me. Lurking above me, just waiting to pounce.

In all honesty, I don’t think that the unicorn will attack and I am not even sure that unicorns CAN pounce (although, given that they are a fictional creature, I imagine they can do whatever they want) and it is my suspicion that he/she/it was placed there by “office boy”. I saw him yesterday morning with the unicorn tucked under his arm, mumbling something about needing a walk. Things are getting stranger and stranger by the day.

I am also getting more and more ready to go completely postal. If people annoyed me before, they are completely unbearable now that I know that I am leaving. They grate on me so much that I am barely able to fake a smile or hide the agitated tone to my voice. I am cracking. My sweet little fa├žade is fading and the beast is making its way closer and closer to the surface. I am completely convinced that my supervisor is the anti-christ and am just waiting for her to find one thing that she can do to make me more miserable. I am waiting to be written up for leaving my desk to PEE or moved to the other side of the department next to the horrible woman who speaks through her nose and holds the title of “Ass Kiss of the Year”. And I believe will never be beaten.

Nine more days. After that, I will be free. Free to wear jeans. Free to re-pierce my nose. Just fucking free. Until then, you might want to try and keep me away from sharp things, though.

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