On Baguettes and Bagels

Close encounters of the other kind was too close today that getting over the headache was gargantuan effort. :(

Sometimes it pays to be incognito in the workplace. The world doesn't get too small, that way. The only thing you do is do your job, chitchat, take breaks, then head home. It sometimes pays to pretend that you didn't have bosses to report to.

Disclaimer attached.

On the other hand, I play the role of a sponge used one too many. Don't get me wrong, I can listen; the bad thing is too much of the "hey-please-listen-i-need-ears" gives me unnecessary angst issues. I tend to worry, once again. Which I am not supposed to since it comes out really bad. Sadly, I am still the number one choice in the shrink industry, to date. Funny, though, I am starting to have personal coping issues of my own with no option but to ward them off myself. :(

There was this IVR that I encountered towards the end of work today. Couldn't really get over it due to the fact that I was constantly replaying the recording just to get the name of the establishment. P***.

From:

Faggots in Babel xxx

As opposed to:

Baguettes and Bagels

Shame on you, Nikki. Your mind thinks of things that no one dare think. HAHA. >:D

(I seriously have clean ears, you know.)

Overheard people in the jeep on the way to church. Gossip is bad, but if your seatmate has a bullhorn for a pie hole, you didn't have much of a choice but to hope the bad noise would just stop. The bullhorn - I mean seatmate had a compilation of neighbors' and random peoples' life stories that if she'd put it in print she'd be selling it like pancakes. The bullhorn - seatmate ranting that this and that and he and she weren't doing things quite right and that she gave them unsound advice and blah-blah-blah-blah-blah-blah-blah-ed until they reached their destination: church.

We then watched a movie, Hereafter. I was hoping for a suspense-par-blah flick. Only to find out that maintenance should keep buckets handy in the movie house. Dammit. It was great, don't get me wrong. But it was the right movie at the wrong time.

I prefer critics to groupies. Why am I hounded by the thought of these random oh-i-so-love-you-and-whatever-you-do-even-if-i-don't-know-what-that-is when I shouldn't?

Or should I f****** should?

Is this the start of the battle against quarter-life crisis? I don't want to go there but sometimes couldn't help but think of the things that require no thought processing at all. It's energy-wasting, and nobody said it was fun. I couldn't really tell the monkey everything, he'd think I was nuts in the Virginia Woolf category. I start thinking again: was I ever deprived? (next question please)

Sad reality does not give me much of an option. My dad once told me I was a control freak. Mom said as well that I was too bossy. Ate thinks I'm all too sloppy at the edges. Having siblings next in line (and when I mean siblings, 1...2...3...4...5...6 more).  I am pressured. I don't like being pressured but it's as if there can be something done. Was I mean in my past life? Did I eat too much yesterday? Was I one of Hitler's accomplices? Is this why JD Salinger kept too much to himself? Couldn't help think why I have pangs of angst when I really should not. Seriously. It eats me alive. I am very tired. I was never like this. (or was I but it was never heightened nor amplified) Did cruel fate force me to grow up too soon?


Dammit will be the word for today.