Catching up—or “Why They Should Have Vending Machines in Vegas”

Sooo, you know how the elderly often sit around just bitching about their medical details, mostly because they don't have anything else to talk about? There might be a paragraph like that in this post. For those of you who would rather play Pinochle or Rummy while having annoying health issues recounted to you, I am sure the folks at what my friend's mother-in-law calls "The Grandma Dump" would be thrilled to see you.

Here's the thing of it: I am "skinny" again, and only sort of by choice. You see, there is just más de badness at work right now—of the Uncomfortable Sort and which I explained in a post so detailed and just the teensiest bit vitriolic that I now cannot post in case my co-workers ever happen upon this blog. Anyway, for some reason, this Sort of Discomfort comprises precisely the kind of stress that makes me unable to eat—a la the Great Unintentional Fasting of 2007. I just. Can't. Eat.

Sometimes I'll get hungry, but that's always an evil ruse; I eat and then immediately feel (or get) sick. When I finally do eat, it's because I feel like I'm going to pass out, and even then, my food almost always comes from the vending machine in the break room.

I know it's bad for me, but it's also thrilling in a tiny way; I get to have little conversations with myself as I gaze lustily through the glass:

• "Where are the Snickers? Oh, Mary and Joseph handin' out crackers, tell me there are still some left!"
• "When the hell did we get Ranch-flavored Corn-nuts?? Best. Day. Ever."
• "Oh, so what if the vanilla Zingers I ate last week had icing so hard that it almost broke my incisor—they look FANTASTIC!" and, of course,
• "Dear God, all that's left is a bag of COMBOS. Seriously?"

And then there is the minor panic when I realize I only have a $5 bill. Or only dimes and nickels. But I tend to have a stash somewhere, and, not unlike a junkie, I make sure to ask for ones and quarters when I get cash back at my local food merchandise provider to ensure that next packet of M&Ms shall be MINE!

To be honest, though, that's pretty much the extent of work-related Awesomeness right now. And by that I do in fact mean yes, the roulette wheel of vending machine fare.

Don't get me wrong—I like the job—my clients are nice, if a little flaky, and I have started to figure out many of the processes and procedures that everyone else seems to be able to do in their sleep (I think this is because they are overachievers with a heightened desire to prove themselves, but whatever. I'm not bitter).

Also, I have finally worn someone down enough to make her my Work Friend, and there is usually free coffee.

But I would take a Vegas gamble on how many days it would take before someone thought about me and said "Where is she? Is she here today?" If our twice-weekly management meetings were cancelled, I bet I could go a week, as long as I kept up with email. Even if the meetings weren't canceled, I bet I could get away with missing one before people started calling. Well, this is only if my designer (the SuperMormonFragilisticExpialidocious one—and I say that with all the love in my heart) were absent. She checks on me, probably once an hour. I'd like to say it's to make sure I'm still among the living, but really? It's usually that she has questions about The Project. Which is entirely reasonable.

In sum: Some Awesomeness, some Less Awesomeness. But I have a job in this shitty economy, and it doesn't involve de-beaking baby chicks, so I'm going to just big fat roll with it for now.