Friday, October 29

Scut Monkey Murphy

Been a while, internet. I’m reporting to you live from the eye of the storm. At least it feels like that today. (I’m also reporting to you live from work where there’s a super buff new piece of meat who keeps making nervous eye contact with me like he thinks I’m more important around here than a scut monkey. If only he knew, internet. Nonetheless I will use his ignorance to establish who’s the sexual alpha dog) It’s been one hell of a busy month (said the girl who blogs from work) with more happening than I can remember. And it’s only going to get infinitely more taxing as the triple threat combination of work, best friend’s wedding, and very difficult costing exam all come together as a joyful holiday season clusterfuck. We’re not including family and friends and luuurve in this list because that’s life and pretty much the list of things that give Murphy joy and purpose and no stress whatsoever.

I’m back at work after 6 days of travel and it feels very similar to the trauma of getting back to school after summer vacation, with immediate exams to boot. I’m cranky and irritable and want to just slouch in my chair and do no work and unabashedly be the worst employee ever. And make no eye contact and scowl if yelled at and eat lots of ice cream and jerk off in the loos and take very long smoke breaks. I’ve returned to classic bullshit passive aggressiveness from dudes with tiny wieners and it really doesn’t help. I have my CV made on Excel, internet. I need someone to format it for me so I may once again be excited about work. It doesn’t help that I’m getting mails from our ‘Women’s Network’ on stress management, which asks for 45 minutes of time spent on a weekday learning how to ‘meditate and do yoga to better handle the stress imposed on us by our busy lives and jobs.’ Will learning how to touch my toes without bending my knees not make me want to chain smoke at my work station, internet?

In other news, I was in Bangalore this past week, celebrating a birthday! Yay birthday! Celebrations involved crawling into the most comfortable cocoon ever and just staying put for the entire time I was in town. It also involved the consumption of copious amounts of pasta and mushrooms, some very gay sleeping with a very warm body, and a deplorable lack of oral and dental hygiene. That’s the problem with cocoons. They’re fairly dangerous. People lose friends to them, people lose perspective on their reality to them, they gain weight eating cheese and pastas in white sauce in them. But I’m out safe now, slowly regaining my tenuous grip on reality and I can safely tell you it’s a total bummer. I have to ask internet, is living in a cocoon an option? Is it healthy? Is this the kind of question crack addicts ask before their first time? My mood is strangely peaceful. I’m happy when I’m at home during the day and evening, impatient and cribby at work, reflective and bummed out during my commute and bummed out at night in bed. And the only way I can think of describing this strange status is as peaceful. I worry a lot, because I believe I’m guilty of treachery, I’m not thinking about consequences, I’m just cramming experiences and warm memories into some sort of box that I’ll store under my bed. Does love spoil? Rot like a fruit gone bad? I’ve had an apple in my handbag for more than two weeks and it’s still firm and crisp as ever and my bag smells deliciously like apples.

*Murphy is weighed down by her organs and fruit that she has no intentions of eating. Hopefully they won’t kill her, the organs or the uneaten fruit*

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