Regular is as regular does

I’m so predictable in the mornings. I mean like a Madonna movie. I have a glass of milk (or a protein shake if I’ve had a run or a workout and maybe a piece of raisin toast if I’m alert enough to fire up the toaster) every morning before I leave for work. And in the first few hours I’m at work, I eat a banana and a cup of Yoplait (cherry or peach or blackberry if I can find it in the store) and I make a bowl of plain oatmeal with some kind of dried fruit in it.

But the kitchen in our ultra-plush, space-needle-like office is even farther from my desk than it was in the ankle wart of an office we just moved out of. And a bowl of freshly nuked oatmeal is HOT. And my hands are already full from carrying all my dry bowl-of-oatmeal ingredients. So I have to stack everything so I can carry it all without burning myself:
Fortunately, my fully assembled stack o’ fiber looks a lot like a hockey trophy, so nobody makes fun of me. And I get to bask in Stanley Cup adoration every morning as I move my bowl back to my desk even though all I’m really accomplishing is a bowl movement of another pronunciation. Which, at my age, is sometimes big news.

And for the record, my tube of oatmeal is all ripped up from being taped shut for the move to our new office. I decided that a disfigured tube of oatmeal is preferable to shaking little oatmeal flakes out of all my file folders for the next month. Am I right? Can I get an amen?

Get a load of how clean my desk looks. That won’t last long. Also: Join me in hating that curvy cutout on my desk. It’s a platform that raises and lowers my computer to the typing height of my choice. But I’m perfectly happy with the regular height. And the huge gaps in my desk are hungry little fuckers that eat pencils and erasers and sometimes even low-carb snacks. And the hardware under the desk that raises and lowers the platform has already severed three arteries and two tendons in my knees. So even though that platform thinks it’s all clever, I will not treat with the respect that it thinks it’s entitled to. Because I am Not! One of its! FANS!