Miserable Monkey

It is after 8:15 p.m. My first assignment today was at 9 a.m. My only break was to pick up sushi for myself, which I ate at my desk. I have a co-worker having surgery and ton of championship games and a boatload of breaking news just docked in Deadline Harbor, but right now I'm waiting for my very, very, very sad video project about a marine with PTSD who killed himself to hurry up and transmit itself already. Because the heart-tugging story about the twins? Was on Monday. And it feels like so long ago that it's inconceivable that it was this same week.

Things did not get much cheerier, except for my Phantom of the Opera project, which is currently in Hell Week, and really, I am almost ready for this gajillion part series to be finished, because October was a long time ago now, please. It's sad when Andrew Lloyd Weber is the highlight of your professional existence.

I want to go home. I WANT TO GO HOME. So I can see Joel. And hopefully rejoice over the fact that scary smelly trash has been taken out. I would take it out myself, but I always have a portable portrait studio/television production unit/editing suit to carry down three flights of stairs. And I'm never home. So the trash festers. Maybe it's festering because it's thinking of me, think(ing) of me fondly, silent and resigned. We never said the trash was evergreen or as unchanging as the sea... Enough.

My eyelid is actually twitching.

Oh! Oh, and you know what happened to me yesterday that has never happened to me before? A pushy PTA mom actually followed me into the ladies room to needle me about whether or not her son was going to be in the paper and if so, then when? Well, when will I know? Well, can I TELL the editors to pick her son's photo? I. Was. Peeing. She was all, "Oh, sorry to stalk you..." Then, don't. Don't do it! If you know I'm in the bathroom stall because you saw me going in, then wait outside for me. Pretend to read a bulletin board! Or wash your hands! And wait until I'm washing my hands! Trust me, no photos are getting published until after the act of urination is finished.

Woot! Upload complete! I'm coming home, honey. Please take out the trash. It's all I ask of you. (Har. I'm done.)