Professor Number Six

OK.  Fuck.  I get that Professor X is giving a talk alongside Professor-from-Another-School.  I get it.  

I fucking got it the first time you sent out the email.  

That was six fucking emails ago.

I don’t mind that this is important.  I don’t mind that you want to publicize it.  

I do mind that I have to get at least two emails a day about this shit.

I’m not going.

Do you feel me? 

You sent out too many fucking emails about this fucking talk.

You sent out so many that you saturated whatever desire I might have had to attend.

I REFUSE TO GO TO THIS TALK.

It’s your fault.

Administrative dumbass.

It’s the first day of class and I’m feeling all fucking curmudgeonly and bitter.

Two sets of friends had babies recently.  

I don’t want to see any more pictures of fucking cute babies on fucking Facebook.  I’m tired of it.  

I get it.  You procreated.  GOOD FOR YOU.  

And I was all, like, forsurewhatever! Of course I locked my doors! Overly-friendly downstairs handy-man and all that. For sure.

PS. If I don’t answer my emails, please call the po-po.

Must stay remotely sober in order to have a functional conversation with my mother.

Also must resist the charms of the adorable hairy alcoholic handyman doing work downstairs.

Wish me luck, comrades.

I was told there’d be a nicer place in this terminal - which, by the way, I had to take a fucking shuttle to and apparently there is only half a shuttle available for this entire fucking airport - to have a glass of wine, which, fucking A, I was really looking forward to after this mess of a week.

I get here and of course such a thing DNE.

Two crappy glasses of pinot grigio later and I am ready to tear my hair out with longing for another drink.

I know airports suck both ass and balls.

But what the fuck is wrong with me?

No, I don’t want to work on Spenser right now.

And I also don’t want to think about Professor Ex, the ex of Professor Significant Other. PE called him a little while ago, while I was in the kitchen dealing with the coriander.

Oh domestic bliss!

Oh where is an adorable email from Professor Adorable? I could really use one right about five minutes ago.

Two hours of it.  Plus tequila.

For some reason.

OH COME ON.  BECAUSE IT’S SUMMER.

AND SHIT.