Malaise Medley

My lunch today (again): 1 can o' tuna, 8 water crackers, 1 spherical fruit-like substance, 1 lite Kraft cheese single, 6 oz. fat-free black cherry yogurt, 1 slice of wheat bread (for toasting), 75 fluid oz. spring water and unlimited servings of Louisianna Hot Sauce and crushed red pepper.

Mmmm... oh yeah. Delicious. There's nothing like canned fish to brighten the day. Unless it's that fruity thing I bit into that emptied a waterfall of juice onto my crotch. Now I'm stuck in my office until it dries, damnit.

The toaster's broken and there was a cherry stem in my crappy little 6 oz fat free yogurt -- my indulgence for the day. I'm seconds away from giving into Slot G. I hear the machine calling me. There be Tato Skins in there. I know there are: I watched intently as the vending machine guy load in each 1 oz. baggie of saturated perfection at 9:05 this morning. At least until he caught me staring.

He probably doesn't even truly know what a "pervert" is.

Shit. No cash. It's a shame to be surrounded by all these valuable office supplies and have no one to sell them to. Too bad: 55 cents for a Swingline stapler is a hell of a deal.

One of my coworkers always has money with her. She won't lend it to me though. I made the mistake of telling her that I went on a diet, and now every day its, "How's the diet going, Brian? How many pounds, Brian? Still goin' strong, Brian? Don't you miss fatty foods, Brian," to which I'd like to reply by pouncing on her meaty haunches, clawing my way up to the sausage rolls on the back of her neck and chewing one of the cheeks off her face.

I really don't want to cannibalize her... much. She means well -- which is exactly why she won't lend me 55 cents. I could throw her off by asking for five bucks or more, but it's conspicuously close to the lunch hour.

The water cooler is right outside her office. I refill my bottle on the way to the lunchroom, lunchbag in hand. Every damned time it's the same question, "How much weight have you lost now, Brian?" I immediately feel guilty because I know I'm on my way to stuff my face full of rice cakes or something similarily revolting, so I always tell her, "Lost another pound!"
"Great work, Brian!" Thanks to a primary education in the Colorado school system, her math skills leave something to be desired. By my calculations, I've lost a pound per day for the last six weeks, sometimes two pounds in a day if I keep bumping into her... a sum total that leaves me somewhere around the body weight of an eighth grade girl.
"How much weight have you lost now, Brian?"
"Well, I lost a pound in the staff meeting, and another pound while talking to you just now!"

My pants are dry. I should go.