What Is It About Tuesdays?

I dunno'. But it seems like I don't want to work, I have no energy, and I couldn't care less if when I drove in, there was a big black gaping hole where the office used to be. I'd shrug, remember the company's massive insurance policy, go get Starbucks and hang out at Borders the rest of the day.

What's wrong with me?

I'm irritable. I feel like I'm asleep; running on autopilot; smug as a Quentin Tarrantino character.

It's one of those days where you find the grungiest beat you can on the iPod and leave it cranked all the way to work. You dare someone to pull out in front of you. 'Course, if they do, you won't cuss or yell, you'll just sigh and nod your head to the pulsing throb, knowing it was bound to happen.

Funny thing is, as I peer out of my pollen induced coma, I notice the army of automatons surrounding me. They are all going through the motions, too. All wondering when the work will be over, when it will be enough, when they can relax and go fishing, when school will be out for the summer so they can run around and play all day. Oh, yeah. There is no summer vacation from work... Well, back to pushing papers around on my desk and minding the shrill demands of the ubiquitous Phone.

See you (cringe) Wednesday.