Lately, I've spent more time writing than working. If I could get paid for it, I'd write full time. However, as I am, in reality, paid to draw for The Man, I've had to make a deal with myself this week to not post while at work (slipped up yesterday, oops).
BossManJ stopped by my "desk" one day last week and asked if he had left me a note telling me to send a site plan to a consultant (he hadn't). He got snippy when I told him as much, as it was quite clearly my fault that he hadn't left a note. As I began to write myself a note on the subject, he asked where another plan was, intimating that it, too, was on my desk.
Let me, once again, explain my "desk" situation. I had been, until today, sitting at a folding table for about a month and a half. The majority of this folding table was taken up by the ridiculously gargantuan, 100-pound, 42-foot deep monitor of my computer. I had no desk space, so I hadn't been keeping anything more than what was necessary on a daily basis. Ergo, I didn't have the plan. He got snippy, again, telling me to look for it (when I already knew it was on his damn desk the whole time). Then he left. Sigh.
That particular encounter inspired the following:
She opens the front door, takes the step up, and firmly plants her booted feet in a wide stance. Rolling her neck around, she readies herself. Her right hand twitches at her hip.
The light at his desk is on. A tumbleweed of transbond paper rolls across the floor before her.
Wao, wao waooow, wah wah wah
Wao, wao waooow, wah wah waaaaah.....
Gypsum dust crunches grittily beneath her feet as she approaches his desk; his back is to her. As he turns to face her, she reaches for her back pocket with lightning fast speed- her weapon is in her hand in an instant.
"Read it and weep, cowboy."
She hands him the resignation letter and promptly walks back out. :)