So This is What an Aneuryms Feels Like
You know those days? One of those days? That you have some times? I'm having one. Of those very days.
My favorite part of these days is when you pass into the absurd-o-sphere. When yet another person steps into your office [after patiently waiting in the line outside your door that stretches to the horizon behind a sign that says "Major Crises MUST SOLVE NOW ask SueAndNotU (wait time 45 minutes)"] and announces the catastrophe that you must wave your magic wand out, and you just start laughing. Not yelling, not fuming, now whining, just crazy Willy Wonka laughing. Like, oh ho ho! Who's next! Who's got world hunger? Because, why not?
But the true, orchestrated, balletic majesty of these days only comes after the catastrophe line has run its course, and the final visitor stops by and you're balancing the solar system on your shoulders and this person comes by and you look at him witheringly, expecting a crisis, and he says, "Could you fax this to my wife? I just don't know how to use the damn thing."
Oh and to truly have one of the days like my day, you simply must sprinkle in a healthy dash of Napoleon-complex afflicted consular bureaucrats from post-Soviet nations. "It is not possible. " Ah. Like music to my ears.
Man, if tonight weren't half-price Belgian beer night, I might be grouchy!
My favorite part of these days is when you pass into the absurd-o-sphere. When yet another person steps into your office [after patiently waiting in the line outside your door that stretches to the horizon behind a sign that says "Major Crises MUST SOLVE NOW ask SueAndNotU (wait time 45 minutes)"] and announces the catastrophe that you must wave your magic wand out, and you just start laughing. Not yelling, not fuming, now whining, just crazy Willy Wonka laughing. Like, oh ho ho! Who's next! Who's got world hunger? Because, why not?
But the true, orchestrated, balletic majesty of these days only comes after the catastrophe line has run its course, and the final visitor stops by and you're balancing the solar system on your shoulders and this person comes by and you look at him witheringly, expecting a crisis, and he says, "Could you fax this to my wife? I just don't know how to use the damn thing."
Oh and to truly have one of the days like my day, you simply must sprinkle in a healthy dash of Napoleon-complex afflicted consular bureaucrats from post-Soviet nations. "It is not possible. " Ah. Like music to my ears.
Man, if tonight weren't half-price Belgian beer night, I might be grouchy!
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