Three hours to the annual Social Committee holiday pizza. Four hours to freedom. Not a lick of work left to be done. YouTube and Facebook - blocked. Most everyone else has the day off. And me without my iPod.
The odd wreath and tiny tree stand out against the stained grey/beige walls of the cubicle farm. Cakes and shortbreads are arranged near the coffee machine. Humourless management types in Santa hats vainly encourage us drones to keep working through the day, or until the VP unlocks the gate. And we will be joyous and thankful in a "Stockholm syndrome" kind of way.
Let.
Let me out.
Duh-duh daaa, da-da-da, da-da-duh...
This morning I fed the cats a full can of tuna, so they would maybe associate the day with something special. They already love this time of year because it means lots of crumbs dropped on the floor, lots of house guests, lots of ribbons and bows to chew on, and a great big tree covered in potential toys erected in the family room.
Tee-hee, erected.
Merry Christmas peoples! Next time I post, I will likely be sitting by a pretty decorated tree in the wilderness of the Eastern Shore, wearing some nice new Christmas clothes, drinking a beer and reeking of turkey, stuffing and cranberry... mmm...
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