chicken little has returned from his week-long vacation. he toddled past my cube at 8:30 this morning just as i was about to stab myself in the neck with a red fine-tip sharpie because, well, things already weren’t working.

“good to see nothing’s changed,” he said and then slowly backed out of my cell.

don’t you just love monday mornings? i’d be much crabbier if it weren’t more like a thursday for me. i don’t have to work wednesdaythursdayfridaysaturdaysundaymonday. wahoo!