Oh boy, living nightmare

I haven't slept well. I drank too much last night. I pussied out on my three minutes at the open mic and dashed off stage after two minutes. I lost my car downtown, and it took thirty minutes of wandering in the cold to find it. I came into to work to find that I was missing a meeting that I wasn't invited to until five minutes before I showed up at work. And now it's almost 4 p.m. and my list of things to do before I go home for the weekend looks like this.

I don't even know what half of these things mean. But thank you for making them all a high priority, Outlook! I feel organized! Because of you!

God, those exclamation points hurt my eyes.

Anyway, I just wanted to take a few minutes to tell you this, world, in case I'm just dreaming and I suddenly realize that I'm not wearing clothes and the squids break through the windows and come sloshing after me as I dash buck naked down the hall to find safety in the copy machine room where they keep the peanut butter crackers and the gallons of milk. I don't know what psychological jujitsu my mother did on me as a child, but everytime I have a nightmare, I end up eating peanut butter crackers and drinking milk by the end of it. Sometimes the Muppets are there, too, to sing me a song. Sometimes it's just a sad Go-Bot, and I have to cheer him up so he doesn't rust from the tears. And sometimes it's an abysmal horror that threatens to devour all my crackers and all my milk for the love of Jesus please let me wake up now instead of ...

Oops, gotta go, boss is coming.