Emily and the morning of HELL

After a small tiff with my ever loving husband, I go to bed last night with a slight headache and a teensy weensy sore throat that I had been nursing all day. I wake up an hour early this morning to the little shit miniature pinscher (appropriately named Bruiser) upstairs jumping up and down relentlessly above my bedroom. I roll over and pull the covers over my ears and realize that my teensy weensy sore throat has mutated into a full blown pain and that sleep did not cure my aching head. As if sensing my pain, the little asshole upstairs starts yipping his little pointy head off. I stare at the ceiling with my sore throat and throbbing brain while Bruiser violates my ears. After contemplating calling in sick for twenty minutes I decide that work will be quieter and more restful than the kennel I apparently live beneath. I make it in and out of the shower, and as I painstakingly try to fix my hair, hub points out to me that our angry weightlifting downstairs neighbor is now blasting Outkast so loud that we can hear the "hey yah"s clearly as if they were being hollered right in our own dining room. Apparently the fight he had last night with his live in girlfriend has made him wake up this morning with a new sense of energy. Sick and tired, I am forced to listen to fuck-head upstairs jumping and barking, the steroid-oaf downstairs shaking it like a Polaroid picture, all before 8:00 am. I make it to my office (I was even early amazingly enough) to a message that my boss called in sick with a sore throat and headache. My coworker comes in late (as always) telling me that she nearly called in sick as well. As I sit here I contemplate how nicely a miniature pinscher would fit into my oven, how I can't wait to find anew job and a new apartment, and how baked beans aren't such a good breakfast food.

Hello Thursday.