"Think what a wonderful world it would be if we all, the whole world, had cookies and milk about three o'clock every afternoon and then lay down on our blankets for a nap." ~ Robert Fulgham
Ahhh...warm cookies. Crazy Employee has redeemed herself today by ordering warm cookies in celebration of Boss' Day. (I had to go into Owner's office and talk him into having one. He's on a perpetual on again, off again diet.) As for me, I indulged in two chocolate chip cookies and I'm in danger of lapsing into a sugar coma. (If this post ends suddenly, you'll know EMS probably had to be called.)
I have a rule about eating the stuff available in Crazy Land. We're awash in M&M's, peanut butter cups, Hershey's kisses--if it's candy, we probably have it. No one here should be eating any of it and I shudder to think how many pounds of sugar each individual in Crazy Land consumes annually. I'm not opposed to sugar. As a matter of fact, I have an enduring and passionate love for chocolate. I've spent several evenings in Houston, after a long day at M.D. Anderson, searching for an individual piece of chocolate cake. Just so you know. I'm as self-indulgent as anyone else.
About ten years ago, though, I discovered my penchant for eating as a way of dealing with stress. What did I eat? Yep. Candy. I don't recall any resulting weight gain, but once it dawned on me that anxiety led directly to sugar, I called a halt to eating anything that might be available at work. For a while, I couldn't even go by the receptionist's desk (the home of all death food). That created some problems for me, because half the staff is located on the other side of the building and the only way to get there is to walk past the receptionist's desk.
I have an excellent excuse for today. I'm back to sleeping about 4.5 hours a night. I need a sugar rush to keep me awake. Or, at least, to keep me awake until the coma ensues. Why no sleep? Who knows, but I'm guessing it's related to Crazy Land. I was fine over the weekend and actually got a reasonable amount of sleep.
I've now had conversations with virtually all of my co-workers and it's only Tuesday. Loathsome and I (well, mostly Loathsome) discussed his genius grandson. It was just like every discussion I've ever had with him. It's all about Loathsome; my job is to gaze admiringly at the perfection that is his very being. I did not disappoint. I've learned the hard way that admiring wins my freedom sooner than actually engaging in dialog.
The Information Superhighway is back after having taken a couple of days off to move into her new home. She's still feeling the sting of Crazy Employee's accusations that she's "mean" and "picks on" Crazy. It's good to have the Superhighway back. She's the most reasonable person here.
Her supervisor, Mr. Moneybags, arrived this morning in his favorite mood--enraged. We have no idea why other than that he's a white, middle-aged, bitter man who had reason to believe that his kind would rule the world. They still do, in fact, but there's just a tiny bit of interference by women, black people, Hispanic people and liberals. Furthermore, Jesus requires that he cast a wide net of hatred and fury. That's his version of Christianity, anyway.
I ran into Foot Lady who, under the guise of asking about the reconstruction ordeal, managed to work the conversation around to her feet. It was a banner day for her. She got to take not one, but both of her shoes off and make me look at her feet.
Hemorrhoids were the topic du jour with the Shunner. What's happened to me? I used to consistently give off the vibe of being a person with whom you'd never, ever, ever discuss anything even remotely related to intimate body parts or functions. The inhabitants of Crazy Land don't understand boundaries, though, and a disapproving raised eyebrow does nothing to restrain them.
Is there more? Of course there is. But the memory of warm cookies has cast a rosy glow on the whole week. I'm more entertained than annoyed. Note how easy it is to please me. Plus, I managed some yoga last night and the world is always brighter when I've twisted myself into positions with which my body is no longer remotely familiar. Cookies guarantee another round of it tonight. Proud Warrior and Gate Pose--suddenly the body wishes it had never walked by the receptionist's desk.