I want to get my pop out of the fridge, really I do. But that would require walking to the breakroom, and the breakroom is a frightening place at the moment. It is, quite literally, the Breakroom of Death. Who, I ask you, WHO in their right mind takes pictures at a wake? Who sees an elderly nun gazing happily (read: creepily) at the deceased and thinks, whoa, Kodak moment! And who thinks this is an appropriate picture to hang up in the breakroom, under a sign that for some reason reads “Please help yourself to a packet of seeds.” Seeds of what, I don’t know, and I’m afraid to let my mind linger lest it get death cooties. Call me Stephanie Plum, but death cooties are no laughing matter.
Cough. Look over here. Attempt to change subject. So on the way back from lunch yesterday, I may or may not have inadvertantly flashed the monestary. My skirt was like the answer in the Bob Dylan song…blowin’ in the wind. Except when I sing that song, I prefer to use the words “The ants are my friends…they’re blowing in the wind…the ant, sir, is blowing in the wind.” Makes me laugh, and reminds me of the punk kids who sit outside the pool and try to burn ants. I’ve yet to see that work – ants move too fast – but when I was eight I saw a kid melt part of a school bus seat with his glasses. I wonder whatever happened to that guy. Like most of my high school class, I have no idea…oh wait, I think he dropped out before graduation…yeah, that’s probably it. Probably went to Echo, where his bus-melting skills would be better appreciated.
Speaking of high school (and no, I don’t have any idea how I got from there – flashing the monestary – to here – speaking of high school – either), I spent a portion of yesterday flipping through my high school scrapbook. I do wonder what those people are up to…hopefully not all naming their children “Mackenize” (seriously, how do you pronounce that?). Hopefully not all having children yet. Of the sixty-two ’03 grads, I have spoken to four this summer – myself, the two Andys, and CK – and that makes me a little sad. I’m not going to kid myself into believing any of them read this – I’m not even sure why I write this – but I do miss them, even if I don’t miss high school.
(Wow, did you see that? I just followed a train of thought for an entire paragraph. This could be a new record – who is keeping score?)
Brr…I’m shivering, and it’s 90 degrees outside. I must be sick. Oh crap! It’ll be the death cooties, for sure!