This Blog Is Full Of Crap

"Hey, can you add this DNS entry right now!"

Done.

"I mean, reverse DNS entry right now!"

Done.

"Oops, I spelled the domain wrong! Can you fix it right now?"

Done.

"I gave you the wrong IP address, too. Can you change it now?"

Done.

AUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHH!

Seven more days of suffering The Commute From Hell.

I have 42 hours of Paid Time Off stored up.

I have 16 hours budgeted for Christmas Eve and New Years Eve.

That leaves 26 hours.

The temptation to burn three of the remaining seven days isn't just overwhelming. I can feel my internal organs twisting like a puzzle-box at the possibility of burning three of the next seven work days.

I take a moment to sense my current state of health to determine if there's anything wrong with me that can translate into three days off that don't require a doctor's note.

Maybe my wife will come home with some kind of bug from New Orleans and I can be, like sick then not-sick and then sick and not-sick... pass the sniffles back and forth kind of thing?

"Hey, my internal organs are twisting around like a puzzle-box. Insurance doesn't cover it, so I'm going to need to hire an exorcist to remove the demons from my duodenum. It'll take two days, maybe three for the rituals to work, so, keep my seat warm until I get back, okay?"

Knowing my luck, Theodoric of York will show up at the door, ready to bleed me dry. (Which is no different than my doctor when a procedure or test isn't covered by a simple co-pay.)

I know that next Friday, I'm going to be, like, totally overjoyed at it being the last time. Spitting-on-the-102-bus joytastic, in fact. Maybe even Making-rude-comments-at-the-102-bus splendiffic, but I'm not one to overhype a feeling for marketing purposes.

And Wednesday is a required Open House kind of thing to get a tour of the new building.

"This is where you'll clock in so we know exactly how long we've had you as a willing slave. This is where your soul will be crushed. This is where your future ends. This is where you're supposed to be trained on new procedures and policies, but we're thinking of putting in a sauna for management. And here's the bathroom... but let's keep the hiding and whimpering limited to the stall on the left, okay?"

Maybe I can ask someone to Fight Club me. "Hit me as hard as you can!" kind of deal and WHAM I'm out like a light and it's totally not my fault.

Um... I fell down some stairs. I walked into a wall. I tripped over a cat.

Sound about right?

Actually, I've been couching and sneezing since I got home and Gina was getting in the door at the same time.

Maybe some goddamned illegal on the bus brought their Mexican Plague or Guatamalan Gut-Buster Bug or whatever.

Whatever. I'm just looking forward to the new office location and getting an hour or two of my life back every day.