Monday was a bad day. I don't mean in the normal, typical crappiness sense of it being a Monday either. (See "Mondays, case of"). No, this was something much, much worse.

I woke up, and the first thought out of my mind was: "Damn it, I'm sick and tired of being a consumer." I dragged myself to the closet, got dressed, and got an energy drink out of the fridge. And from that energy drink, it all went downhill from there. I got the nervous, hysterical shakes I get when I'm 'ffeined up and in a bad mood. They say never take LSD when you're in a bad mood, it'll only amplify the effects. From my experiences with too much caffeine, I can only imagine what sort of monster I'd be on a hallucinogen.

I got to work, and everything bothered me. I mean EVERYTHING. Then we got a call from our out-of-town boss, who was coming to do our performance review at FOUR IN THE FRIGGIN afternoon. I spent all afternoon fretting over that.

After a day I thought I had only barely managed to get through had finally gone by, a good friend at work emails me and tells me that I’ve always been a caring and funny person (HA!), and that my (HA!) sarcasm and cynicism (HA!) are scaring her. Does this person not know me or something? I took stock of things, nevertheless and it was typical livejournal/xanga angst, me being tired of living and of life in general and not wanting to put up with its daily onslaught of attacks and pressures. I woke up this morning and was fine. I really wish it would go ahead and be like spring time or something, only not hot. I need daylight, really, really bad. I’m not the only one either…this weather is affecting many of my friends, and you know who you are.

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Enter into the equation fartywoman at work. Old woman, nice as can be, but painfully opinionated on her liberal side of politics. As if I didn’t have enough to listen to with all of the right wing morons that surround me. (Politics in general are dumb and useless. I don’t care what party you affiliate yourself with, they’re all the same due to said uselessness)

Fartywoman makes odd quasi-gourmet dishes and then tries to pass them around. I got a thing of mango chutney one year and it had a bug in it. She also puts ginger in her hot sauce and other weird eastern/medditeranean spices in things that TOTALLY have no reason to taste like grandma’s used diaper. Anyway, fartywoman won’t leave me alone. She stands her talking about such useful things as her daughter’s shaving accidents, her own bouts with gas and heart trouble. Sprinkle it with a liberal dose of Bush-bashing and useless banter about horticulture, and you’ve got this ol’ lady.

She sits there today, reading her usual erotica novel at lunch (NOT romance. She gets hardcore smut ‘literature’ from somewhere and reads it.), and I get to hear her make comments about the lesbian couple du jour, etc. It’s all punctuated with farts and grunts and self-aggrandizing comments about her cooking. I wonder what I did to deserve being put in this trailer with her while our new building is being built. *sigh*