Is it bad I almost regret not getting the cartoon fish?

Short version: job sucks.  Dealing with it by conceptualizing of the other people there as bears.  Waiting for an excuse to quit with panache.  I’d be gone but I want to at least have money for Fishmas.  Actually, if I can stick it out until 16 September without getting eaten by Mama Bear, I will have just enough to squeak past the end of the year.

To give you an idea of how few people she told she’d hired me: one of the VP Bears dropped in today and went on a growling, den-destroying rampage which surely would have ended at least one unfortunate hiker if it had taken place in the wild.  She was quelled only with promises of a welcome email.  Which went out three days after I started work in the Bear Dimension, and wherein my name was spelled wrong.

On brighter horizons, this bear business appears to be amusing to others.  And you know what? That makes me happy.  If my days consisting of what, the, and FUCK improve yours, well someone’s laughing at this.  So, I say we all have a good chuckle and drink heavily (booze, caffeine or the union of the two, as you like).  

Also, I now have a bento box.  I’m still learning how to pack it in a manner which is both effective and tasty.  I treated myself to a small box of cutesy trappings for it, despite having a hardcore silver insulated bento in which to use them.  However, I did buy the flower and star cute things and not the cartoon fish ones, so I can kind of maybe pretend I’m an adult.

And I’m still writing.  Somehow, I am still goddamn writing.