Failure of the Day: Four Hours

Sweet and slender tendrils of vacation smell are wafting up from… you know I don’t know if that's what that smell actually is, but let’s just for the sake of argument say it’s sweet and vacation-y and of somewhat mysterious origin, and O, I want it.

The last day of work before 12 uninterrupted days off. Chris is running around like a crazy person tying up loose ends and making sure everything at his job is taken care of, whereas I am watching time just full-on cease to advance at all, at all. Time hates me. Time is the little old lady I will eventually be trying to cross the street and giving me the finger for honking at her to speed it the fuck up already, granny!

Not. Even. Lunch. Time. Yet.