Well, Try Harder Then

(This entry has no focus. I don't know why I bothered mentioning that this time.)

I. Clothes Make the Man (i.e., the One Who Is Oppressing Us/Me)

Hi, so I realized a lot of people at work dress up (yeah, I just realized now. I was living in last season's rose-colored bubble until a moment ago). But not in a trying-too-hard way. But rather in an efficient and color-coordinated way. I am always impressed by their wanton yet measured style.

I often end up sharing the elevator with one of these fine specimens, and I think "Why me?" and then I just stare at the panel of floor buttons for the entire ride rather than the snazzy buttons on whatever productive assemblage they've managed to pull together.

It's hard to talk to someone who's much better-dressed than you are without it turning into a quasitragedy of manners. You can only use the I-dress-for-comfort plea so much while halfheartedly fingering the ratty sleeve of your for-bedroom-only sweatshirt (you know, the one with "No Coffee? No Thank You" stained on it in peeling puffy paint) that somehow made it into the light of day.

Ok, I get it. I should have put more thought into my outfit.
photo courtesy of Flickr and mbtrama

I've tried taking the stairs instead but I realize I run up between levels all zig-zaggy like a harrumphing hooligan. Woe to those who may bump into me because collision is inevitable. I look at my feet and tend to stomp when on an incline.

II. Cleanliness Is Next to Evolution

So I try and take comfort in other aspects of work life such as having a clean desk space.

Do I succeed in this endeavor? No, of course not. Failure is the order of the day.

My desk is always covered in dust. I don't know why. I don't know where it comes from. But I do know no one else has this phantom dust that follows me around in the manner of Pig-Pen.

In fact, all my office furniture is covered in dust. And I wipe it all down every week, but the dust is back a day or two later. I don't see anyone else with this problem. Heloise, help!

This is insane. I don't even smoke.
photo courtesy of Flickr and kaeau

III. Financial Blow-out! Market Clearance! Everything Must Go!

Also, I hear our country may be headed into another depression. The more, the merrier, I say! Come join the rest of us mental health enthusiasts on a macrocosmic scale. We'll read up on 10 Ways to a New, Stress-Free You (as if stress comes without a price) enough times that you'll be able to debut your laissez-faire self by next summer, give or take a few moon cycles!

I also like how all the analysts talk about Wall Street (suits) versus Main Street (the commonfolk). Main Street sounds like a place where there are parades and ice cream trucks. Wall Street sounds like a place where there are charades and bailouts and rundowns and kickbacks and smacktalk.

Sometimes I forget that people make up Wall Street. It's easier to think of it all as a giant robot with platinum grillz who is wearing a blue button-down shirt with a white collar (who sold the first one of those, I wonder).

Next stop, Treasure Island!
photo courtesy of Flickr and epicharmus

Does anyone else also still imagine large sums of money as only existing in briefcases carried by trenchcoats at midnight and/or in burlap sacks with dollar bills on the outside? I know there are also liquid assets but those just remind me of melting bars of gold. Take a nostalgic dive in Uncle Scwooge's money bin!!!

In the meantime, start prepping the bunker. First order of purchase: bunker beds.