I hate work.

Now, that doesn't mean that I hate my job, although I do have momentsof hatred for my immediate surroundings, especially when the stupidityof others dicks with my harmony.

But that's for another time.

The fact that I hate work today is because I'm coming off of a short,well deserved vacation.

6am, and the alarm is bleating, and I groan as I shamble off to thebathroom. I splash cool water on my face, and deposit a grogan the samesize, shape and color of a dachshund with no legs, and it's off to theshower. All the while, I'm moaning as the hot water washes away the lastvestiges of the water of Shasta Lake from my body, stinging the sunburnthat I never would have gotten had we had some decent fuckin' weather earlierin the spring, a peeve most Bay Area folks have been familiar with thisyear, what with the sunshine in February and more rainy days than sunnyin June.

So, I towels meself off, and head to the kitchen. I put on the tea water,and fumble the eggs out of the fridge, crack a few in a bowl. The teawaterboils as I light the first cigarette of the day. As I pour the tea, I decideit'll taste a lot better, not to mention the lift in my spirit if I adda shot of brandy.

And there you have it; the 4 basic food groups. Caffeine, nicotine,alcohol and cholesterol.

6:30. Time to wake the ol' lady. It's the worst part of the day forher, and many's the morning I've had to bite back venomous responses toquestions like, "Is it time to wake up?" (No, you numb cunt, I'm in herebecause I can't stand being without you for even one minute.) "Is the teaready yet." (Isn't it ready every fuckin' morning, girl?) This morning,she just pulled the covers over her head and grunted. I had no responsefor that, so I sat her tea on the nightstand, and went to catch up on someof the newspapers that came in our absence.

Peeve: Sylvanus Smith died. 01' Sylvanus was known as "Hambone," andheld the distinction of being the fattest person on Earth. He weighed over1100 pounds last year, when they brought a crane to lift him out of thebed that he spent most of the last four years of his life in, and cartedhim off to the hospital. There, he lost 300 pounds and was re-turned home,where he quickly gained it all back. Complications from obesity, hypertensionand diabetes put a final end to the reign of terror he held over everyedible foodstuff he could get into his maw, leaving me to wonder what they'regoing to bury him in. "Hambone" Smith, dead at 54.

Highway 1 was doing a fair rendition of a parking lot, making me 15minutes late for work. I arrive to the usual chorus of "How are you, howwas Shasta," bullshit that passes for office etiquette, to which I basicallywarned anyone within earshot that anyone who slaps me on the sunburnedpart of my back will be eating through a straw for the rest of their naturallife.

Peeve: People who clap you on the back, or stick out their hands toshake, when you just saw them last week. There aren't a lot of folks thatI like to touch me, and none of them work where I do.

Peeve: The assignments I handed over to be completed were left undone.

Peeve: Having Monday on a Wednesday.

!Peeve: 3 day weeks.

Peeve: Having to cram 5 days' worth of work into them.