Unfinished #1 FYRP: Little White Lies

(For your reading pleasure. What? I made up my own acronym. Get used it.)

Here's the question of the moment: How wrong is a nontruth?

Thursday dawned cold, rainy and generally blech. Taking out the snooze button like a terrorist does nothing to brighten the day, even though it's well past the waking hour.

A cup of coffee or... three. And a little time with the DVR took up most of the morning.

Oh right, work.

Shit.

857 - not dressed; not showered
900- not dressed; dripping wet
902 - jeans, thermal tee (1.5 sizes too big) blue hoodie. Rocking the dirty teenager look.

905 - hair? ehhhh...eff it.

907 - do I call or email?

910 - can I lie better in a call or an email? Email it is.

912 - on the way to work YAY!

913 - gas light comes on; every single gas station could not be more out of the way

914 - longest train EVER by my house; shut off car so as not to idle and waste 2 Tbsp of gas

925 - gas station completely full

945 - have made it to work without incident

Boss: "I've been calling you."

Me: "I ran out of gas on the way to work! Can you believe it?"

Despite the title, I don't drink bleach.
Clearly.
However, it beckons during those moments of dingy gray. They don't happen often and are quite fleeting. Normally, those moments are tied to something work related or high-pitched/nails-down-the-chalkboard related.
Those two instances are not mutually exclusive.
At least, not in advertising. Well not in any job really.

Regardless, this particular moment hit sometime this weekend.
So here I am.
Searching for a free therapy session - to me by me.

Let's lie on the couch shall we?

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