I cherish my time at lunch, when I'm at work. For it's the third best part of the day. The second being that very moment when the clock strikes 5, and I can bust outta the office, and creep over to the gym whats up. And of course the best part of my day, is when I get in every morning.
True story, I get in, power up my computer, and the first thing I do is check to make sure my blog post for the morning is there.
It's a beautiful thing.
But that's not the point. The point is that the third best part of my day is lunch. There's something truly magical about sitting in silence with my coworkers as we break bread/fight for use of the microwaves.
I usually lay claim to the front page of the newspaper, and once I read that up, I'll grab the local & state section. There's a, you guessed it, an advice column - Dear Abby, or Dear Anne or something. I don't know.
Today's struck me though. Some toolbox was complaining about not being able to finish what he starts. He's going on about how he can never finish projects for work, or for school, and as graduation looms, he has not been looking for a job at all. I'm thinking, 'what can this guy possibly be asking', it seems like he knows he has a problem, and that he knows what's causing it.
I'm in bewilderment as to why he would write in, when he seems to know the crux of his problem. Of course, nothing truly amazes me anymore, aside from watching myself do pull-ups, or how ridiculously large and muscular my thighs have grown in the last year. I began thinking that maybe I missed something?
And then BAM! There it is:
This son of a bitch has the stones to ask if he has a "disorder".
"Do I have a disorder?"
A disorder? Like there's some medical condition for being lazy.
No motherfucker, but there is something seriously wrong with you: you're a goddamn lazy shithead.