smack my bitch up, gently…

I am stressed. At work. My boss can be a bit of a tool, you see. He’s not always toolish. Just sometimes. But when it’s Tool Time…

Fuck. Fuckity-fuck-fuck-fuck. Total tool bag from Planet Tool. Raging Tool. Tooley McToolboy III.

I’m about ready to start smoking. I finally understand why nicotine soothes the savage beasties. I take  lot’s of walks, but I’d rather kill my lungs instead. It’s a better form of catharsis, and less problematic than drinking.

It also makes me want herbs. Badly. I haven’t had herbs in close to a year. I need them now more than ever.

My industry is in a tizzy right now with all this crazy economy stuff.

My boss is a tool.

I need ativan…

But I’ll settle for Bach Flower Rescue Remedy and a metric shit ton of caffeine.

Things are overall good, but I seem to have more stressful days at this job than my previous gig. I get rattled easier.

Fucking tools.

Maybe tools are the ones who need herbs. No one understands me! Mwaaahhh!

I keed… I keed… I figure it’s just Eris darkening my doorstep. Homegirl has been quiet lately. She seems to get louder in spring. So be it. I could use a little chaos, even if it makes me desire copious amounts of coping chemicals.

FUCK STICKS! I’m okay. Just tired with cranky pantalones.

This too… shall pass… my ass… fnord. Damn it’s good to be a ganster.

Have I mentioned lately how much I rock? Because I do. Rock, that is.

Piece out…