2004-02-12

I guess they’ve officially sent the memo revealing that this place is actually a fucking mental ward: at work today, I have so far seen a) a woman wearing, instead of shoes, a pair of knitted slippers in a bright orange-and-purple checkerboard pattern; and b) a man in a coonskin cap, complete with tail. I simply can’t work under these conditions. I’m going to have to call my agent.

Another memo that should be dispatched re: The Crazymaking would advise those individuals whose noses fucking whistle constantly that hello! Other people have ears! And that hearing that insidious low-register sneeeeeeeeeeee? Wheeeeeeeeeee all day is enough to make me apply for early retirement from the human race. Please, purchase a box of Kleenex, shove it up your sinus and die. (Love, Robin.)

Egad, I’m irritable today. I think all this working isn’t agreeing with my constitution. I’m sure that somewhere along the line I’m descended from nobility, because I seem genetically predisposed to loafing off and sneering.