Caterwauling

So does the usual “Let Your People Go!” directive so the office can close early.

You know, I was born to be extraordinary. That’s meant superhuman challenges (and, sometimes, triumphs). There ain’t nothing normal about me, in any way/shape/form.

I would love to knock off early — or, hell, enjoy a day off — but it’s just not possible. Even if I did, it just means I have to make up for it over the weekend.

And Winger is in town tonight. Which, I had 100% planned to go see. If you don’t want to know how frustrated I am right now, chained to my desk, don’t ask.

However, there’s still time to FedEx some scandalous gutchies to the venue and ask a roadie to pelt Kip with them …

Everybody’s working for the weekend.

I”m working on the weekend.

The holiday weekend.

Again.

Funny thing is, I used to have some help and I can’t say I’ve been any less inundated since I stopped having it.

Good thing is, help arrives Monday.

So the body count can remain at zero for yet another “holiday” weekend where the rest of the company cheerfully e-mails that we can either A) leave early if our work is done (hah) or B) hold our breath waiting for people to come back from vacation to take care of things I needed them to take care of while they were off enjoying a week off.

Of course, I’d rather hear folks were on vacation than just siting in their office, refusing to do what I ask without my boss’ permission. Ain’t nobody got time for that, least of all me.

In case that wasn’t obvious.