The CEO of the Clinic has made it his mission to make me miserable. Oh, I’m not the only one he hates. He hates us all, I firmly believe. All junk food in the vending machines has been replaced with granola bars and trail mix, while all the regular pop in the cafeteria is now strictly diet. I thought there might be a revolt the one day when the secretary came into the office fuming about how, “they took away the chocolate cake!”…but it was returned the very next day. Maybe he’s beginning to fear the masses.

This all reminds me of the Dr. Seuss story “The Sneetches”.

Pretty soon we’ll all be walking around with stars on our bellies, and I’ll still be the sneetch not sitting on the beach. (Read the story. It’s even better when you’re not 7 and a half)

Also, I’ve had the same apple sitting on my desk since last Friday. It’s not that I don’t like apples; it’s just that I’m so tired and the thought of biting into this round, hard object repeatedly, makes me want to sedate myself by sticking my sharpie up my nose (it’s a twin tip, so until I’m knocked out, I can still be productive by writing with the other end). This is all the more reason why I need a Pepsi…or a lobotomy.

I’d settle for a nap.
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