Just stop talking to me. Your voice is grating and I am just as likely to stab you with a stress ball.I thought I had weathered the worst of my cravings. Apparently not. The incessant grating of my nerves against sandpaper is horrid. The intense urge to strangle idiots is overwhelming.
Breathe through the pain, breathe through the pain. It's like a gay man's mantra really.
The ability to concentrate on anything is shot to pie... hey look a new email... what was I saying? Disofficer attention... attention deficit... what were you saying? Hi!
There are so many things that I could rant out but where to start? The lying customer's? There lips were moving... that's how I knew they were lying. The showdown between the nervous ranga and smug know it all in the Australian government? Maybe how my entire chest and sides hurt before from having a coughing fit. Perhaps... no, never mind. I'm having a bad day. Let's just leave it at that.
I think I may just put my head on my desk (beat it repeatedly) and have a bit of a nap (knock myself out). This may mean a difficult conversation explaining why I was sleeping (out cold) while at work (in hell).
Really, I don't know why I get out of bed some days - I really don't.
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