For some reason, I seem to blog better when I am here at the office than do at home.

What is sexual harassment?

A boss just lightly "placed" his hand on my shoulders today, and though I am still reading it as fatherly, I keep wondering what the fuck I'll do when it starts becoming more than that.

I told Rhem that I still hadn't gotten to the point where things were uncomfortable, and that he was such a dad that I wasn't really worried yet.

He agreed with my decision, though not before asking whether I thought he did the same thing to his dad.

Totally out of conjecture, but understated.

Anyway, this is like day nine of my ennui. Where I want to quit my job and move to Ireland to serve Guiness to country folk.

Of course, I have no idea what kind of miserable existence I might be wishing upon myself since I don't know any Irishmen nor do I know how they live. Unless you count the big boss, who happens to be of Irish decent (as are most north americans) I'm discounting her parentage due to New Order business. It's just as bad as loving Erasure.

New Order and Erasure fans go ahead and stone me, I don't care. I am a child of a more advanced techno era, and having been there when the whole techno craze was ravaging Europe, I have no qualms about giving those who consider 80's dance trash as techno phaser-set-to-kill eyes.

Anyway, I have just built my "funk" mood playlist, consisting mostly of Squeeze, Marc Cohn and Tom Cochrane, with "Walking in Memphis" as my building block and "Tempted" to tide it through. Reality Bites, though not the ultimate representation of celluloid driven apathy, is what started out this slacker shit that my generation is trying hard to both uplift and dispose.

I've just been to the bank to withdraw since my stupid ATM got captured. I found out that I have to fill out this Affidavit of Loss (which I have to notarize) and get a new frigass card.

I despise bank days. This is the reason why my charge card bills have run two months, not because I can't pay but because I am too lazy to go to the bank. Errands are not my thing. I was not really built as one of those 9-5 people, a fact that has become glaringly apparent since I got sick.

I don't have it in me to manage a regular nine-to-fiver, pay bills, maintain a healthy relationship, then drive to and from work and satellite activities.

Work rules your life, the moment we recognize that is the moment we can begin to demolish that truth. If you're not at work, you are either going to and going home from work, and anything spent in between is just recovery time. We go to vacations to espcape work.

Of course, with the advent of the work-from-home thing, jobs and working in general could change. Moms could stay home until they find an excuse to go out of the house and dads can stay home until they're driven nuts by mom who's got cabin fever and he finds an excuse to leave himself.

Okay, big funk tide. Yesh, let me just go back to work.