How is it only TUESDAY? It’s been a full year since the work week started. I swear I can feel each individual cell in my body slowly dying to the beat of that annoying wall clock. And Glen in the next cubicle. Ghod. If he doesn’t stop loudly smacking his gum and clicking his pen like some kind of deranged one-man band hoping for a record deal that will never happen, I’m going to write a scathing anonymous note about gum chewing and post it on the bulletin board with all my other scathing anonymous notes.
