Tuesday, August 31, 2004

I haven’t been feeling hale and hearty during the past few days, gentle reader, so I’ve tried to pinpoint the source of my ailments like a good licensed physician. I think I earned an MD a few years back, maybe three MDs, but that might be my amnesia speaking. This much I know, though: just as there are some things I’ve actively done to put myself under the weather, other factors beyond my control have conspired to send me to the sickhouse.

Take Psycho Ed, for instance. He’s the fellow who lives directly above me. In weeks past I’ve discussed his proclivities to fly off the handle, and to his credit these episodes are few and far between. Hey, I’m cool with that. He enjoys banging on cupboards and walls. Some people just dig that kind of thing. I used to collect stamps myself. Lately, however, he’s adhered to a strict regimen of going bonkers at around 7 AM, effectively beating my alarm clock by a full hour.

So I stumble groggily to work with mildly impaired judgment, and when lunchtime comes around I’m still impaired. Maybe that’s why I’ve gone to Subway not once but twice this week, both times ingesting the aborted offspring of the sandwich world. Since I’m clearly incapable of making sound culinary choices, it’s time to delegate all decision-making to the Lunch-o-Matic, a monstrosity of an invention made by my officemate. Will I miss my lunchtime autonomy? Who controls the Lunch-o-Matic? Why is the sky blue? Where do babies come from? Find out in our next installment!