You Can't Have It All, J.C. Wiatt! No One Can!
Everyone in my life, both people who know me and usually see me regularly, and those people who only know me through the computer, are under the impression that I have up and disappeared. I imagine that they think I have run off and joined either a coven or a convent (...could go either way), and that I have given up on the material world and am living on a tropical island wearing a loincloth knitted from the shredded remnants of legal briefs and motions, eating palm fronds and trying to make wine from coconut milk. Sadly, this is not the case.
INSTEAD, the case is that I have been so suddenly and painfully overwhelmed with legal work that I have completely lost contact with the world outside of my office, except I have had LOTS of contact with various clients and employees and workplaces that smell vaguely of vinegar and double entendres, and I have never wished more fervently that this thing we call "client confidentiality" did not exist, because if I could tell y'all what I am in the middle of right now, you would laugh until you died. And then you would buy me a box of wine, drill a hole in the top, and insert a straw, and this would be your thoughtful present to me. And I would not even complain if the wine was pink. THAT IS HOW FAR GONE I AM.
I have a few very close friends who all exchange emails on a daily basis, and even they haven't heard from me since, like, December. Except for every once in a while, when I pop in to utter some complete insanity along the lines of, "Hey, I'm not dead, y'all, and y'all need to come over because I bought a new slipcover for the sofa and it looks really good, and I think I'm going to have this guy arrested this afternoon and my secretary just brought me this really big box and I'm afraid it's got a human head in it so I've gotta go. Later!"
So, in short: I am a little overwhelmed right now. And being overwhelmed makes me talk in a mysterious manner. And then I am like an enigma, wrapped in a riddle, soaked in an acid trip, and then played out on reality television. In short, my life rules. But my emails rule more.
So, because I still haven't managed to write that entry about New Years and the fire and the screaming (although, I have made the video, but it's a windows media file thing; does that mean y'all Mac types can't see it? Because wouldn't THAT be a tragedy), I am going to share the following with you. These are pretty much all of the actual emails I have had the time to write recently. In trying to recreate where the fuck I have been for the last month, this is what I have found. This is also all of the evidence my friends and family and co-workers have to determine what, precisely, has happened to me. I am sure they are planning an intervention. Do people bring wine to interventions? Maybe we can do that tomorrow!
Anyway. E-mails! And I assure you, as much as these fail to make any sense whatsoever to you, they make even LESS sense to the people who actually received them. I am sorry, people whom I love.
THIS IS WHAT THIS MONTH WAS LIKE.
I am not paying any attention to what I am typing because I can't stop watching Baby Boom. I think I just saw an extra wearing Units. And I thought to myself, what a wonderful world.
Holy crap, thank you for bringing me food. I was about to starve, and I went up there, and made it as far as the conference room door when I just happened to glance down and catch sight of the fact that I have apparently made a very poor series of bra/shirt fabric weight choices today, and also it is cold, and the resulting nipplage sent me running down the stairs in horror, only the stairs contained [partner], who spoke to me for several minutes while I attempted to look casual with my arms crossed over my chest like a mummy. I have not left my office since. But thanks to you, I am not hungry! Just slutty.
Hey, good looking! I am writing to ask what you have got cooking.
ONE. Cut a hole in a box!
My hair is seceding from the union. I need a cocktail and a caddle prod.
I bought Dukay one of those toilet paper holders that plays your iPod. It's basically everything he stands for as a person.
I drew you a beautiful picture out of art and unicorns and opposing counsel.
He asked me about that code section, too, and I said that nobody knows, as it is a mystery like Stonehenge and the pyramids.
am engage din a battle to the death with th new compuuuuter systm, which has crashed my computer four tomes this moring and now will only type 1 letter every 6 mmmmmmmmmmminutrs JESUSSS CHRIST.
But I've always wanted to blow up Paducah!
I'm doing awesome. Except for the blinding rage I feel towards Lynn Johnson [writer and illustrator of For Better or For Worse.] LYNN, YOU ARE ON THE LIST.
Seriously, I am going to start keeping mace in my desk. Mace, and wine.
Ooo, and roofies.
Do you think my dad will laugh if I send him a text message that says, "HI MOTHERFUCKER!"?
FEATS OF STRENGTH! FEATS OF STRENGTH!
If I ever have to write a song about a fish, I'm going to call it "Like a Sturgeon." You can't stop me. Nobody can.
Hey, is a "sturgeon" a fish?
I will beat him for you.
I'm taking a five minute break! Bring me an eyebrow pencil and some Sun Chips!
There are all these billboards all over Atlanta saying I can pay money to "SEE DONALD TRUMP LIVE", but I just want to know how much it would cost to see him the opposite.
My brain just popped.
I have decided that people don't exist unless they are standing in my office. So that means you are a figment of my imagination, and I do not have the time to talk to myself right now.
I am in the market for some tender hugs.
I made a full-grown man cry yesterday. He deserved it.
(And finally, even though I never do that whole IM thing because I find it all perplexing, I do want to share this bit of conversation I had with Dukay the other day):
Dukay: i just ate some british rugged mature cheese on butterfly butter crackers
Doxie: That sure is fancy.
Dukay: it was that or velveeta
Doxie: I'm trashy and would have gone for spreadability.
Dukay: and orange
Doxie: Know how people use whipped cream during sex?
Dukay: messy people
Doxie: Do you think Britney Spears uses EZ-CHEEZ?
Dukay: that is really disgusting.
Doxie: I know. I'm sorry.
Dukay: can we do that soon?
Doxie: I have put it on my calendar for Friday night.
Doxie: Seriously, I think there is something wrong with me that I just started wondering about Britney Spears and EZ CHEEZ.
Dukay: ok, so we arent going to do that?
Y'all have a good week; I'm going to go have some cheese. And maybe watch Baby Boom again.
And, P.S.: I just got around to reading the comments on the last entry, and, heeeeeee! Y'all are so funny. Please go ahead and send that search party. The first one. With the wine. And Jack Bauer. But not Jack's ooky wax hand, for: ew.