"The Front Page," 2010 remake

INT. MID-PRICED WATERFRONT RESTAURANT, NOON

A business lunch with three suited bank executives/PR types, one top newspaper editor/general manager (BOSS) and one hapless business editor (ME)

BOSS: "Hi, bank executives we hope will take ads out in our paper. This here is our business editor, who would love to write stories about you. Unfortunately, our business section is totally not authoritative. How unfortunate."

ME: (hides under table in shame) "Lalala, I can't hear you, I'm reconsidering my career options."

It's always darkest before the coworkers

Jesus fucking christ. The one benefit of coming in to the office on a Saturday is having no one else here. But there's one other person, who sits like 10 miles away from me, and she had to turn on every single fucking light in the place (after I had turned one bank of them off). It is so fucking bright in here, it's like that horrible movie about that spaceship that went to the sun, or whatever the fuck it was about. I just remember people being surrounded by light and turning to a crisp, and that is what it feels like, even though it is also freezing cold in here. The 100,000 fluorescent lights are assaulting me from every direction. I feel like a fucking prisoner of war being tortured for information, or like I am about to have major surgery while also trying to do my fucking work. JESUS CHRIST people, get a desk lamp. I now have a fantasy of connecting my computer up under my desk and working there. Maybe a little George Costanza-ish of me. But I'd be working, not napping. God, the office is so much more relaxing with just a few of those humongous lights off.

I'd also like to mention that the light-turner-on is one of those people who is so obese she needs a handicapped spot. At least I am not there yet. Why doesn't she die of a fucking heart attack or something? Jesus. Do us all a favor and save some electricity and Doritos. She waddled over - not, not accurate, she has this walk that seems like she has had her hips replaced or needs them replaced, a weird, slow side-to-side motion. Anyway, she managed to walk all the way over here without the aid of a scooter or whatever to explain that she had turned the lights back on. Really? No shit? I hadn't noticed. Oh, goddamnit, she's a perfectly nice fucking person and I am a horrible, horrible human for suggesting that her death would be doing us all a favor. The high-wattage lights must be fucking with my fucked-up brain. But good christ they are bright.

Thanks for asking

A girl, about 9 or 10, asked me at the YMCA pool if I was pregnant. I said, "No, but thanks for asking," and gave her a broad smile, hopefully broad enough that it implied I wanted to devour her and add her to my unjustifiably wide girth.

Kind of a mess

So I was thinking - I have a job that's stressful in an industry that's failing, and I could make as much working at Walmart or something. I could lose about 50 or 60 pounds. I am always tired and lately always angry. I am failing at lots of things, including my own health, being an excellent parent, keeping the house livable, jesus haven't done dishes in what feels like months. And yet I'm not normally a complain-y person. Not normally. So I've latched onto a pseudonym to kvetch. Commiserate if you like, or move the hell on.

I just don't really care any more - that's the whole root of the problem. My mother died recently and it was so awful. I hate it when people call their mothers their best friends, but she WAS my best friend dammit - we talked every day, every day, liked the same things, had decades of common references that were such easy shorthand. And at first I was thinking, after she died, I'll be sad, but time will make it easier. And as time passes, it has dawned on me - my life is just permanently altered, diminished greatly. No one else will call me every day, tell me what she bought at Marshall's, make fun of my brother, care how the toddler's potty training is going and discuss whatever's on BBC America. Now I go to Marshall's during lunch break and cry while looking at things she would have bought. Stupid, I know. But I can't stop doing it.

Also, I now think all the time - I'm going to go that way too. She was healthy - perfect weight, exercised daily. Why should I bother losing weight - in fact, why not eat total crap? Why exercise, what's the point? I'm going to die, we all are, I just want to dig a hole like our dog keeps doing, lie down in it and wave the white flag. Sooo... that's about it. I can't tell my friends or family about this stuff. They'll be all "concerned," which ends up making me feel guilty, like I have to suck it up even more and put on a happy face. I'm so tired. I can't do it. But I can deflect and try to act like normal. I just need an outlet for the bottled-up junk until I stop being such a freaking mess.