Four Months

More and more these days I rely on sheer muscle memory to activate my vocal chords... unless I'm alone in my car and rocking out to Gods of the Big 80's... or it's a weekend and I have to yell at Brian or the barista or whoever failed to bring me my mocha in a timely manner. Excuse me, where’s my latte? On a weekday, I can usually get from 7am till about 8pm without actually speaking. Even later if I make an effort.

While this does not bode well for future personal relationships, there's a good chance that:
1) I don't have any interest in future personal relationships
1a) especially if said relationship could potentially result in a cold sore, the required purchase of a $700 dress, or some other autoimmune and/or social responsibility defficiency.
2) I especially do not have any interest in future relationships with persons not afflicted with the same antisocial condition. In fact, a majority of my personal relationships take place, and have always taken place, on-line.

Clearly, with good reason.

It is entirely possible that the laundry, dry cleaning, mail, racquetball, dinner, and a slew of other unnecessaries will go undone today as I pull a yesterday and pass out dead asleep 10 minutes after I get home. Twelve hours of hardcore slumber and I still snoozed thrice in the am. So something immuno is likely brewing within. I’ve got what appears to be a brush fire on the strip of land that is my Southern Nose. It's the size of Missouri, yet missed my mouth by a county or two and gives me that ever sought after Leprosy Chic look.

Therefore, my desire to avoid conversation entirely, usually requiring little to no effort (see above) caused me to skip yoga today. The fewer folks who I have to talk to while this thing resides on my face, the better. So, of course, today is the day I have weekly meetings and a great deal more personal interaction than usual. Fahhhbulous.


As of today, I have been at my "new" job for four months. Hoorah.

Four months.
Also known as a third of a year. (Cover your eyes, L, here comes the math!)
Sixteen weeks.
One hundred and twelve days.
Three hundred and forty eight hours of commuting.

348 HOURS OF COMMUTING!!??

That can't be accurate, can it? Yes, yes it can! I have officially spent over two of the last 16 weeks IN TRAFFIC! I could have had another degree in that amount of time! I could have baked AND EATEN over 1600 cupcakes! I could have ...

*sigh*

Do they make a pill for this?

Keep those jokes comin', Noodle. I'm losin' whats left of my marbles.