Friday was one of those days.
I don't know about you, but when I'm in a really crappy mood, everything around me goes to crap as well. I make sure of it. "Especially machines", I think, as the copier jams. For the second time.
If the poor contraptions somehow manage to withstand being inundated with my bad mojo, I just make them the fall guy anyways: "Hey, Tammy, our scanner is crap! I keep scanning this document and it's not showing up in my email." (Then of course, I fail to tell Tammy that my e-mail viewing window was set to "2 weeks ago").
Friday continued to progress in this fashion, with me spewing evil mojo, and the universe responding in kind. Work overflowed, time constraints tightened, the whole lot of it bottlenecking to the point of implosion. I found myself answering an e-mail while reviewing a contract while talking to my husband on he phone. He says, "We need to switch cars for tonight. Maybe you could meet me around 5:00. Or just come home. What time are you leaving?". What??
I realize I do not know what he's saying. Literally. I'm vaguely aware of an invention called words, and that in his invention, people use something that allows them to communicate, and these somethings are called "words".Yet I don't actually know which words he is using, or in what particular order he is speaking them. Apparently, I had reached the point where my brain had stopped processing.
I eventually made it home.
"If I don't go for a run, it will be very bad", I say grumpily as I sit on the stairs lacing up my shoes. My husband is in the midst of his very own stress fest, worrying about the weather's impact on his event. I hear Charlie Brown's teacher's voice: "Wah wah wah wah wah. Wah wah". I respond, "Yeah, and monkeys could fly out of my butt, but that's probably not gonna happen".
Stress is a funny thing. A huge mountain of it can be disipated with something as small as an off-hand comment that strikes a funny bone. Everything changes.
Leopold and I look at each other, both thinking the same thing: Leave those poor sick moneys alone!
Think About It. Think, Think About It
Children on the streets using guns and knives
Taking drugs and each other’s lives
Killing each other using knives and forks
And calling each other names like dork
There’s people on the street getting diseases from monkeys
Yeah that’s what I said, their getting diseases from monkeys
Whys this happening, please, whose been touching these monkeys
Leave these poor sick monkeys alone
There sick, they’ve got problems enough as it is
A man is lying on the street, some punk has chopped off his head
And I’m the only one who stops to see if he’s dead, aaoohhh
Turns out he’s dead
That’s why I’m singing, Aaaaoooh what is wrong with the world today?
What’s wrong with the world today, *mumbles* never said nothings wrong with it
Uooo, what is wrong with the world today?
Think about it, think about it, think, think about it
Good cops get framed and put into a can
And all the money that we’re making is going to the maaan
What man, whose the man, when’s a man a man, why’s it so hard to be a man
Am I a man? Yes, technically, yes…
Oohh, come on, sont zootka they’re turning kids into slaves
They’re turning kids into slaves just to make cheaper sneakers
But what’s the real cost, ‘cause the sneakers don’t seem that much cheaper
Why are we still paying so much for sneakers when you got little kid slaves making them
What are your overheads?
Well, at the end of your life, you are lucky if you die
Sometimes I wonder why I would even try
I saw a man lying on the street half dead
He had knives and forks sticking out of his leg
He said, Ahh ahh ahh ahhhhhhhhwww
Can somebody get the knife and fork out of my leg, please
Ooh, could somebody please remove these cutleries from my knees
This is where we break it down
This is where we break it down
We’ll break it down
What are they doing, their breaking it down
What do they do, and now their keeping it funky
Just having a funky jam and then we’re going to drop the beat
And then we’ll bring it back *wails* Up
Wah wah wah waaah!
*Both go to town with the wailing*
Then we’ll take it low
Fading out, fading out
We’re talking about the issues, but we’re keeping it funky
We’re fading out, we’re just fading out
Why they getting quiet, they’re just fading out
Stop touching that monkey
This is why we love Bret and Jemaine. Also, just look at them. They are so cute.