the back counter & after office hours

This afternoon I took a guy to a doctor's appointment and while sitting there in the waiting room for two hours, I slipped into a high fructose corn syrup coma.

I can't help it.  I gave into the brown sugar frosted pop tarts on the back counter at the office.  I literally thought it was the end.   

Who the hell brings a box of generic pop tarts for a snack?  

Me.  I would.  That is exactly what I do with the shit-food that somehow finds it's way into my hands and I want to get rid of.  I just put it on the back counter and it vanishes.  The social workers devour it.

I 
ate 
someone's
garb. 

After my HFCS coma, I stopped by an elderly Burmese lady's house to show her where her grand daughter would catch the school bus in the morning.  We don't understand one another very well, so I drew a picture:

 

Then I called the interpreter.  Seriously, sometimes I don't even know what I am doing.

So then I went to the office and found it completely desolate.

A. Dream. Come. True.  

One of my ten office mates was packing up when I sat down.

My face looked something like this:

 
The second she got out the door I cranked up the music and had an amazing last hour of work.  I danced in my chair and sang out loud.  I think I listened to the following song on youtube about 19 times, of which I have my cousin Linda to thank.