Metaphor

Balls to the wall?
Four on the floor?
Up to my eyes?
Going 90 MPH?
Holly up on poppy?

Whatever your favorite metaphor for "busy" - or your favorite XTC song, for that matter -

I have been absolutely smackdown, slackjawed, beat-to-the-ground, shitcanned, SWAMPED at work this week.

How busy? Well, for starters...YOUR blog has NOT been read this week. THAT busy.

Didja ever have one of those weeks? One of those weeks, when you are freaking RACING, from Monday through Friday, only to find out that, in the end, not much has actually been accomplished?

I believe this is why people drink, no? That, and all that clanging cognitive dissonance...
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Speaking of drinking...this is mightily amusing. Get to the end.



Thanks, Anita! What made you think of me?
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I'm starting to wonder about my commitment to McJo's Poker on Tuesday nights. See, I'm not great at it, but I'm just good enough...or enough of a slow player, however you may wish to view it...that I'm usually in the top three or four players, out of ten.

That's nice for pride and all - as Connie would attest, I'm reasonably competitive - but if I'm in the top three or four players, I'm either playing until the bitter end, or I am DEALING until the bitter end.

This Tuesday, that bitter end was not reached until 1:30 AM. Last time I played, it was 1:45. I won NEITHER of those games; I came in third and second, respectively. That means that, on those evenings, I got four hours of sleep, and received, in return, NO money, NO glory, NOTHING, except a few measly points on the board that only exists in the fantasy world known, to twenty-five or so people on the whole planet, as "McJo's Poker."

Every week that I go - only every other week, at best, as The Man also has to get in his fix - I swear that THIS week is absolutely the LAST FUCKING WEEK that I am putting myself through this nonsense again. And yet...and yet...I always sign up again.

Poker, you are officially my Bad Boyfriend. You are clearly not worth my time. All my friends say so. I'm never speaking to you again. Hmmmph.

(What? You say you're drunk, and want to come over? Well...OK, just this once...)