February 16th, 2005

Dog Balls

(no subject)

My brain? Cest fried. Perhaps that makes it French Toast.

Our work email was down on Monday and I was at a hotel all day yesterday doing a conference. I sat there, staring at the blue-tiled fountain thinking to myself how shitty I feel on conference days: it's all run run run to get ready for it, a late night the night before, be in at 7, then crash. Sit for 8 hours. Tired, dehydrated, skin dry, over caffeinated, either full from eating too much of the free food or hungrily waiting for the attendees to finish eating so I can grab something. I figured the recycled air in the hotel was messing with me.

Then I realized: I'm always at least mildy hung over for these things. For some reason, I think the night before I have to be up at the break of dawn, wear a suit, and be on all day the next day is a great night to go out drinking.

I feel so defeated at my job. I can't get anywhere. It's like I'm being pointed and laughed at.
  • Current Mood
    drained durf