A pathetic tale, followed by a strong glass of brandy.

I’m overwhelmed by the sudden sensation to blog along the lines of, “Nobody loves me, I have no friends, I’m a complete turd, etc., etc.”  It’s positively pathetic.  I’ve become so wrapped up in others, that I can’t stand to be without their CONSTANT attention to the minute details of my life.  Again, completely pathetic.  Someone should really take this keyboad away from me and wack me upside the head with it.  Perhaps that would help me regain perspective.

sigh…………………  I’ll change the subject, so as not to seem too terribly pathetic and turdlike.  It should be noted here that I’ve suddently become a fan of the word “turd”, classic. 

As the summer carries on, my priorities continue to slip farther and farther away, while the days fade into one massive day that never seems to end.  Everyday, I drag my sluggish, languid self out of bed and into the office to show off my effusive talents of staring into nothingness and going to get coffee at the Student Union.  My boss continues to think I am invaluable in spite of this, but unfortunately I’m beginning to think this may be the result of an alcohol problem, rather than my prodigious contributions.  He often comes back from lunch a giggling fool who either reeks of alcohol, or I catch him gargling listerine in his office and spitting it into the trashcan.  I’ve conspired with another professor in the department, whom he frequently goes to lunch with, in order to keep the consumed alcoholic beverages to a minimum (it’s difficult to discuss factor analysis with someone who finds every thought in his head to be downright hysterical).  Yet, unfortunately this plan doesn’t seem to be working.  Just the other day, I went into his office to ask him something upon his return from lunch, and I found him sipping on some glassware that looked as if it belonged in the medieval ages.  I could smell a definite alcoholic aroma and asked him if he was drinking wine.  He smugly replied with a “no,”  which caused me to then inquire as to what he was drinking if it wasn’t wine.  “Brandy,” he replied.  But of course, brandy at one o’clock on a Tuesday afternoon, how typical.  I suppose I shouldn’t blame the alcohol too whole-heartedly.  After all, it seems to think I am invaluable.