Wednesday, October 11, 2006


I've been lying to you.

If it makes you feel any better, I've also been lying to myself.

I can't even drink decaf coffee. It is a gateway drug. Decaf coffee always leads to regular coffee. ALWAYS. You start off with a nice cup of decaf - black, hot, sharp, rich ...



I mean, you start off with good intentions. Naturally you pick one of the few places in town that serves good drip decaf - Jo's for example - and, still, within 45 minutes you're face up in the caffeine gutter spewing nonsense to passersby. Granted, sometimes it is not your fault. If the waittress happens to offer a warm-up and you fail to notice that she's holding the BROWN pot NOT the ORANGE one.

OK, am I lying to us again? Did I avert my eyes from the pot on purpose? Perhaps. At least I didn't whisper "Just a little squirt of the good stuff" and wink at her. Right? I mean, right?

It wasn't my fault!


OK, yes, I am face up in the caffeine gutter spewing nonsense to you.

I didn't mean for this post to be about my problem.

(oooh look at me ... the first step to recovery is admitting you have a problem.)

At least, I didn't mean for this post to be about THIS problem I have with coffee.

I think I've been lying to you about my JOB problem.

(and myself. I've definitely been lying to myself)

You see, yesterday morning I had an 8 am meeting followed by a 9 am meeting and that totally fucked up my morning routine, providing further roof that my job sucks, right? So I wore my exercise clothes to work and went to the exceedingly lame gym downstairs at 10 am to do the Stair Master for half an hour. After which, I took a shower and discovered that I had forgotten my foundation garments (that's bra and panties for those of you who have never worked ladies retail).

There are women out there who can go commando in such circumstances but I am not one of them. Would that I were ...

No, I need foundation garments. Especially my upper half.

So as I button my blouse, I stare hard at my jog bra willing it to dry out and de-stink itself in the next few hours because I have a lunch meeting off site (where, by the way, I fell off the decaf wagon and into the caffeine gutter) that I cannot flop around at.

I think about reattaching that damp and reeking spandex sling to my chest and that's when I think:

"Why am I here? Why do I have to do this? Why can't I be at home doing whatever I want whenever I want. THIS ISN'T FAIR!?!"

And that's when I realize that I've been lying to you. And me.

I don't want a better job.

I want no job.


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