I get paid for being bored. That sounds like a good gig, I know, but by the end of the week, I'm tempted to go postal. And, by going postal, I mean I'm ready to apply for a job with the U.S. Postal Service. Which, what with people there tending to actually go postal, is probably not a good idea.
You see? The last paragraph reflects the glob of gelatinous goo my brain is reduced to by Friday. I have trouble concentrating. None of the books I'm reading hold my attention. Bingo Bash no longer provides endless hours of enjoyment. And I keep waiting for Morgan Freeman to come in and feed me pumpkin pie. Sadly, this has never happened. I love pie.
Also, the *little* things the attorneys here do to bother me by Friday become *BIG* things. Therefore, not only do I walk around muttering Shakespeare (First, kill all the lawyers), but I also develop a deeper appreciation of Lorena Bobbit. So, I guess there is a plus side.
But, the indomitable human spirit pushes through, and by Monday my love of a roof over my head and beer will cheerfully convince me to sally forth to the Desk of Dulllsville once again. Though I may just take a Mental Health Day next Friday...