Currently, a series of ailments (cyst on middle finger, growth on retina, broken-fuckin-elbows, inability to look down) have befallen our noble administrative and secretarial staff. Because of this the word "roam" has been taken out of my label, "roaming temp," and replaced with the word "fuck," as I am now in a semi-permanent position for the next three long weeks. This poses a problem for me, because there is not that much work for me to do, and more than that, there is nothing new for me to report on…At all.

In fact, this absolute vacuum of activity has lead me to accomplish the following tasks today:

1. looked up "Super Aids," and discovered that the New York Gay Scene is fueled by Crystal Meth and ranging super orgies (later I discovered that "Super AIDS" was a hoax, fueled no doubt by Republicans smoking Crystal Meth and participating in raging super-orgies);
2. looked at all the pictures of Brad Pitt and Angelina Joli in Africa together, postulated on their current relationship and came to the conclusion that I wish I had a sand bucket to play with right now;
3. ate two lunches for no reason, and thought about going for a third;
4. stood in the bathroom for awhile closely examining my face for imperfections, taking intermittent breaks when people would walk in, as to not look vein... or psychotic;
5. talked to my friend on my cell phone about the state of my never ending search for the perfect vacuum bag - likened it to a Seinfeld episode, then thought about writing a script;
6. read every article on CNN.com twice;
7. read my horoscope... twice (apparently the astral energies are shaking up my life... how exactly, I am not privy to yet);
8. read the Libra horoscope... twice... for no particular reason (If I were a Libra, I would have money problems today and a conflicting sense of self... which leads me to ask the question: doesn't everyone have money problems and a conflicted sense of self? Discuss.);
9. looked up pictures of the new pope, where it appears that he is donning devil horns. Photoshopped them all into one document and mass e-mailed it to my friends, under the title "All Hail the Dark One!";
10. played repeatedly with a magic-8-ball asking it, "am I going to get to leave early today," or "am I going to be rich in the future," or "am I going to someday do something fulfilling?!" or "is my headache going to go away!?!" it repeatedly responded with CHANCES AREN'T GOOD… I think it's broken.

It's 5:15. I'm going home.