A blog whereby I motivate myself, and my readers, to punch me in the mouth.

  "Punchworthy feeds our deepest Freudian wishes!" --Entertainment

  "The consumate rocker's rocker. Charming, personable... a sucking void of inescapable inner turmoil."

Tuesday, May 08, 2007

I'm sorry

I would like to apologize.

Partly because this is going to be one more post about where I work, and who I work with, and what I do. And I think we're all starting to get just a little bit tired of that, right?

But moreso just from the standpoint of general guilt. Of feeling bad for feeling so good. This is definitely the kind of thing that I should be keeping to myself, in accordance with my midwestern emotion-rationing ethic.

For those of you not familiar with the M.E.R.E., it's sort of a social version of Prozac (as opposed to, say, a Russian space station). Chopping off all emotive highs and lows, it normalizes reactionary dips and spikes, so that life can be lived in a comfortable, problem-free, radio-friendly bandwidth.

Did you win the lottery? .. you are "pleased with your good fortune." Lose both arms in the PTO? .. you're "going to be alright." Yup. Just head on up to the house, dial 911 by holding a pencil in your mouth, and sit in the tub while you wait for the paramedics, what so you don't bleed on the carpets. It's all good.

And so I apologize, in advance, for saying that... if I believed in Karma, I would be spending all my time right now wracking my brain to try and figure out when I'd saved the life of a blind-orphan-puppy-nun. Because this is just too good.

Today while I was talking to Dave about how things are going over at the old workplace (shock headline: "NOT GOOD"), a parfait arrived, unannounced, at my desk. A blackberry parfait.

I did not ask for this parfait. It popped up the exact same way that the bag of dark chocolate truffles did yesterday. Dropping in from the sky.

Also, I have a fish. (Current Status: "Swimmy!" Current Name: "Skippy Wonderfish")

And, all the while, no one is freaking out at me about the stuff that I should've known but couldn't possibly have because when I tried to talk to them about it they were too busy to deal with the thing that they told me just yesterday was the most important thing in the universe.

No.. I write pithy little commentaries on Amish furniture and how you'll be a better parent if you get your kids signed up for a 401K as soon as possible.. and eat parfaits and feed my fish. (he doesn't like parfaits, so I give him flakes {insert obligatory "flakes" joke here})

Yes, occasionally I have stress because there is a lot of stuff to do, and there are deadlines, and I don't live up to my own standards (what's new?). Here.. let me stop drinking all this Milk and Honey for a moment so that I can properly accept your sympathies.

As I silently weep tiny tears of joy.

So I'm sorry. Very very sorry. And also I'd like to say that this is pretty cool, and I don't really think I deserve it or anything, but it really truly is very neat, and I'm glad for the opportunity to get to try something cool and fun for a while. I'm sure it'll all end in tears, you know, but for the moment, it's ..y'know.. good. And stuff.

We shall never speak of this again.

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At 11:52 AM, Blogger Bill Lewis said...

Wow. I'm glad they've finally recognized M.E.R.E. Maybe we can both get the help we've needed for so long.

Be careful though - non-Midwesterners have never been warned about wearing gloves and/or loose-fitting clothing around a PTO. As a matter of fact they're probably wondering why a group of educators and concerned parents would inflict such lethal damaged to anyone.


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