Ennui, Je te deteste.

For those of you who have the pleasure of reading and understanding French, please pretend there is an accent over the first e in deteste. I'm not sure which accent it is, aigu or grave, and I'm too lazy to look it up. Also please do not yell at me for not using the formal form of "you" as I feel that my ennui is a close personal friend of mine and I'm trying to make a point by using the familiar form.

For those of you who do not read and understand French, I'm whining again.

I was going to devote an entire blog post about how much I hated my uterus and then decided to err on the side of caution. Don't ask me why? I guess because at this point my uterus is actually angry and I feel that if I speak unsavory words about it, it will just become angrier. But that is just too much information for you blog reader and I apologize over having involved you in this mess. Well it's not a mess so much, I mean I do have some personal grooming habits, oh God it just keeps getting worse.

I'm sorry. I don't mean to be base and gross and lewd. Sometimes I do, but then I find that it's funny; here it's just gross and

I really do apologize. I'm just in this super pitiful mood because,

You know because of why. I've surreptitiously told you.

I'm not sure how surreptitious it actually is because I know what it is I'm trying to tell you so I'm not sure that I'm an impartial judge as to the stealth with which I have lead you to the conclusion that I'm now regretting you know because you don't really need to know, but I feel that you do in a way because I'm suffering a slow and painful death,

Okay, so I'm not really dying but I kind of want to. Maybe I need some Prozac?

Back to my ennui and my hatred for it. I really hate being bored and it's not that I'm even really that bored. I've got things I need to do but all I really want to do is crawl under my desk and turn into a puddle and soak into the carpet so that no one knows I'm here and then they'll just think that I dumped my diet soda under my desk because let's face it if I was going to turn into a liquid it would be diet soda and then they'll turn back out of my office and I can just be content being a damp puddle under my own desk until I'm feeling a little better and can re-constitute myself back into a form that is suitable for human consumption. Not that I am encouraging cannibalism but consumption in that people want to interact with me because I'm not being a whiny, obdurate bi-atch of a non non-human primate.

I think it's stupid that they have to designate chimps and other higher-order primates as non-human. Because that's going to make people think twice before keep them as pets or install shunts in their brain for cocaine delivery. Whatever.

So if you happen by my office and see the light on and decide that you want to check on me because you've read my blog post and are concerned that I may be trying to violate several laws of physics and/or several, not laws necessarily but maybe municipal ordinances, and happen to peek into my office and find me face down in the floor in a soggy puddle it's alright,

I'm either sobbing or you've caught me in the middle of turning into a puddle of diet soda and it's awkward either way so just pull my blanket over me and turn out the light, close the door and it can be our little secret.