WELL. IT'S BEEN QUITE A WEEK.

My profanity and road rage levels are at an all-time high, and I'm expecting the local p.d. to come a knockin' on my door at any moment. Playing DCFC on Pandora usually mellows me out sufficiently that at least I can stop rocking myself and mumbling while crouched in the corner of my office, but today I just want to jump on the desk and shout "MOTHERFUCKER!!!" at the top of my lungs.

Yesterday as I was on my way to a somewhat important business meeting a friend asked me if I ever just wanted to get up and pee on the floor.

Absolutely.

I think it's just the pervasive Office Space-ness about our work environment that sometimes makes me want to do crazy things. It's such a relief that I'm not the only one.

There's no real reason for this sense of mania, apart from the general low-level psychosis that is my constant companion. In fact, it's been a pretty good week.

JFJ moved his stuff in last weekend, and it's been unexpectedly nice to have someone in the apartment to cook me dinner and spackle the marks in the wall where I've made deep gouges with my nails when I'm in "a mood." I'm sure my neighbors think he's always been there because they've heard me talking to myself pretty regularly and are probably relieved to see another person exiting the apartment. My mother tried to pull some bullshit with a mattress we gave her but nothing totally outrageous. And when my ex-boyfriend the commitment phobe announced that he was proposing to his girlfriend of six months (almost exactly two years after he had no intention of ever getting married) I just wished him the best and gave him some pointers on pre-nups. My therapist asked me if I was angry at him, but anytime I start to get bitter, I remember that if TB and I hadn't broken up, I wouldn't have met JFJ and we wouldn't be living in domestic bliss.