You know how in Lovecraft there are all those unspeakable things shambling about, making incomprehensible noises, and the hero sits there slack-jawed, wanting the nightmare to end? That’s my day. Except the “unspeakable things” are phone calls and deadlines and people who stand three feet outside my door to have loud cell phone conversations in which they recount every single thing they did over the Memorial Day weekend WHILE I AM TRYING TO COMPLETE A DESIGN PROJECT AND HAUL MY ASS TO A 3:00 MEETING THAT IS 90 MILES AWAY. Also: I am not slack-jawed.
Dear goddess, make it stop.
sturtle [dot] com 