Tonight was the last night of my editing class. Good times. I *may* have gone overboard on the final project. I was the only one who used dividers and a binder and printed a cover with a border. Sometimes I think I am wasted outside of a classroom. (Not just booze-wise) And although the class was pass/fail, I like to think I *passed* just a little more than everybody else. And yes, my moral superiority keeps me warm at night, thank you for asking.

The back of my hand itches. Does that mean anything? I know if my palm itches that means money, and the nose itching, well, I'm about to kiss a fool. But the back of the hand? Is a bitch begging to be smacked up somewhere?

One of the people who was laid off last week left behind an old company mug. Since I had to clean out her office, I claimed it as my own and now I drink tea from it. It makes me happy to pretend that the mug is a metaphor for cannibalism. And now I acquire wisdom via osmosis by drinking bitter green tea from her vulture-picked skull. I am an office warrior. Watch me punch my chests with fists of fire!

On Friday I am taking a personal day to destress (when i start comparing office politics to cannibalism, it's time for a personal day). I plan to do nothing and everything. It is my first day off to spend all by myself I've taken in years. Do not disturb.

This entry is dedicated to George. Because he left a comment. Whoo hoo!