Does it feel hot in here to you? Must be me. Do do CHHH!

Sometimes I feel a little muddled in the head.

You know, like there’s cotton wool up there and you can’t think so you say what you think you’re trying to think out loud and it comes out something like this:

“My nipples are hard ‘cause I got the chills and it’s not even cold.”

And your big boss is standing there looking at you like you’ve peed on the carpet they just shampooed, but you don’t even care because you’re trying to think about why your nipples are hard when it’s not cold and wondering if you unknowingly had a sexual daydream somewhere in your cotton wool brain and then getting this horrifically angry expression on your face because you can’t THINK and you haven’t gotten laid in forever and if your brain is having sexual daydreams without you then you are really going to be PISSED. Then you say something like, “I’ll have that for you this Monday”, and he gawks at you as you zig zag down the hallway with your head tilted to the side and shouts, “Today is Tuesday!” and your only reply is a maestro finger move in the air and a half sung, “Tuesday’s gone with the wind!”

No? Maybe it’s just me.

And sometimes I feel a little depressed.

You know, like when your four year old daughter says she doesn’t want you to walk her into school this morning because you aren’t wearing any make up and your hair is wet and you wonder who taught this ungrateful child to care so much about appearances and then you remember sitting on the porch and openly laughing at that incredibly fat five year old jumping up and down on the trampoline that isn’t even hers and knowing that if she breaks it you’ll be blamed for it because your fat ass was jumping on it two days ago, but then making a remark about her bob haircut and who does that to a fat kid anyway? Then you hang your head in shame and vow that your daughter will learn that it’s not what’s on the outside and jiggling up and down that counts, but what’s working its way through those fat little insides and if she ever wants another snack pack again she’ll do well to keep that trap shut.

No? Maybe it’s just me.

And sometimes I feel like vomiting.

You know, like when you find out through the grapevine that your mother’s ex boyfriend whom you nicknamed Spongebob because of the ridiculous tattoo on his fat pasty white leg has been asking mutual acquaintances if you are single and if they think you’d be interested in going out with him and when they tell you about it they laugh uncontrollably, especially when you start making those retching sounds and not even as a joke, they’re totally real. Then you freak the fuck out because what if he thinks you owe him something because he fixed your car and gave you that expensive digital camera and a $100 gift card for Christmas and he shows up to put the fucking lotion on your skin and give you the hose he used on your mother...OH DEAR GAWD and the retching continues because he’s probably crazy enough to do it. After all he tried to buy you and you totally let him and you realize that you’re probably going to get stuffed into a van when you leave work by a short, fat man that looks kind of like him but you can’t really tell because he’s got used panty hose over his face and you make a promise to yourself that if this happens you will stab yourself in the jugular no matter what Jesus says about suicide.

No? Maybe it’s just me.

And sometimes I feel sheepish.

You know, like when you write a blog post that makes absolutely no sense but you can’t help it because the alternative is actually doing some work or getting up to go to the copy machine where you’ll surely pass your boss and he’ll shake his head because he’s positive about two things – first that he’s writing you up for wearing that shirt when he specifically told you through another employee that that amount of cleavage is not suitable for the office and secondly he’ll forgive you all your weird habits and outbursts and even your unsuitable cleavage if you’d just sit on his desk one time with no under....

Ahem. I’m sure that’s just me.

Thank you, come again.