2003-08-27

I whiled away the day yesterday in hyperproductive slothfulness. I successfully applied for my health care card (�No, sir, there aren�t any organs I�d be unwilling to donate � I can�t imagine I�ll have much use for any of them after I�m dead�), scrubbed the finish off my apartment, read approximately eight thousand pages of delectable Victorian repressed-anguish pontification, exercised, and, to cap off the day, discovered the formula for cold fusion. Yes, you heard me � EXERCISED! I�m on the ball like a fucking circus elephant, yo.

The mental respite was much needed, as I�ll have to keep my wits about me this afternoon: the office manager has decided to �reward� the support staff (and whom exactly do I support, I ask you? NOBODY! I support enforced euthanasia!) for our hard work this summer by inviting us all to a pot luck barbeque at her house, located in the profoundest suburbs of Gatineau. Shudder. With �rewards� like that, who needs electroshock therapy? I�ve already got a hard-won reputation as the office grinch due to my �Pssht! Whatever� attitude towards any work-related social function, but they seem to be intent on my going � the office manager knows I�m vegan, although she doesn�t apparently have a fucking clue what that is, and she asked me if I can eat corn on the cob. (�Uh, yeah,� I said, �as long as it�s not made out of MEAT.�) I�m going to have to do some super-crafty weaseling to get out of this teeth-grinding fun-fest, but have faith � get out of it I will, even if I have to fake a grand mal seizure. Lying twitching on the ground and swallowing my own tongue would be significantly less disagreeable than weathering poolside office gossip in fucking GATINEAU, that�s for sure.