Reporting from the cubicle

I'm going to do it; I'm going to hang myself with the mouse chord.

No, no I'm not.
I'm going to type this blog until my boss walks by. THEN, I will jump in my bewheeled office chair, my palms will get sweaty, and I'll most likely have a very suspicious look on my face. I am SCARED that they will take this opportunity away from me.

IF HE SEES ME, I WON'T BE ABLE TO FIX TYPOS FOR EIGHT HOURS STRAIGHT! I am living on the proverbial edge my friends, risking my luxurious internship to report to you, from my cubicle. I'm such a journalist.....hm.

Its not all so bad, Oingo Boingo just came on the radio. Anytime a good song comes on, like this one ("Just Another Day") I rock back-and-forth in my fancy chair (that I stole from another desk) to the rythm and swivel side-to-side to the melody. The left corner of my cubicle is camera one and the right corner is camera two. I energetically lipsing to my cameras in time with the changes in the song, begging for some one to glance over at me [attention! attention! give it to me!] and maybe giggle, even furrow their brows in confusion. But alas, I am alone in my cubicle and no cares that Danny Elfman is a musical genius and I know all the words.

You should see me when Queen comes on. You really should.

But these lights really do a number on my brain. Everything around me gets all bland and flat; extenstion chords are phones are framed pictures are dwarfed walls are post-its are printers. It all looks the same [in this light].

I made a joke to my boss that he should pay me. He nervous glanced at the woman in the cubicle next to me and walked away. He was "not amused."

Ooohhhh fuck it, how do I unhook this mouse....