Today is moving day! I know, I can’t stand the magic either.
(I was at work an hour early. Someone’s going to have to pay. And I only accept a form of currency known as snarkasm.)
Changing offices should be considered a milestone in everybody’s careers.
Actually, I haven’t even been in my current office that long (and yes, I too am shocked that I have an office). I only just got it a few months ago (before that my address was Anonymous Hall Cube, Cubesville, USA).
And now, it’s time to scuttle (not unlike a crab) onward lifewise to a more enlightened place, both mentally and physically…across the hall!!!
Because windows and natural light are overrated. So is personal space for that matter. Don’t need it, don’t want it, don’t like it. At least not in that way. No, I’m lying. I’m a huge fan of personal space. From zero to polygraph in 60 seconds.
So in the moving process, which is going straightforwardly enough, I’m mainly dealing with this unforeseen piece of goodness:
The most objective form of love diagnosis available on the market today…presenting THE HEARTBOARD (heart-shaped dartboard)!!!
Here is a close-up:
I don’t know where it came from, but it was here when I moved in here. So it must come with me. It’s not going in the trash, that’s a given. No, not the recycling either. Cheap joke, hippies! And at a time like this no less! I hope you remember we’re in the middle of a climate crisis.
I can’t stay on the same subject because I am suffering from the confident delirium that can only be achieved by a good night’s lack of sleep.
This is weird. I went for a walk this morning (caused by a fire drill test, which meant that no one had to leave the building except for people who have trouble doing work with high-pitched siren ambient noise), and the entire street evoked the odor of new car smell. Not altogether unpleasant at all, but how and why?!
Oh, and for the grand finale, I just found out about this site where you can make people mixtapes. I’m thinking earth should officially consider a name change to heaven (the club). DJs spinning eight tracks all night by hand (because that’s how you manually fast-forward and rewind tapes, son! Act like you know.)
Here’s one I made (p to the s: It’s schizophrenic-sounding)!