Tolerance Level: Orange. Stop pushing.

I get a new shrink today which is always grounds to apply the adjective: Awesome.

I'm so bored, you know? I don't really have enough to do at work this week and I'm so poor at home right now that there's not a whole lot to do there, either. I would cook but I can't afford the good foods; I'd clean but that's already been done; I'd call people and bitch about stuff but first of all, I'm making this effort to not complain and it is seriously limiting my interaction with people and second of all, I'm not really in the mood to talk on the phone.
I go through phases with that. I'm in a phase where I want to be out and about, not sitting on the couch, staring out the window, struggling to hear people clearly on my cell phone that's been dropped 723 times.
I don't have that much to say this week, I guess.
I have decided to institute a Tolerance Level warning system for the people who interact with me on a daily basis. From now on, I'll have a little ticker, like CNN, running across my forehead and it will say Tolerance Alert:
Green - No worries. Tolerance is high and things look great
Yellow - You'll get one little snark but it won't be too mean
Orange - Stop pushing. Seriously. Tolerance Levels are dangerously low.
Red - !@#$ you, you !@#$ing !@#$. Tolerance Levels are considered depleted and measures for total avoidance of me and my space must be taken. Don't worry, I'll be avoiding you as well.

There are two people today who have pushed me today to Tolerance Level: Orange. Stop Pushing.

If it were practical for me to look up from this keyboard and level my gaze condescendingly at the first person, I would say, "Why in the HELL are you calling clients in Mississippi? Do you really think they want to talk to you about BENEFITS right now? No. They do not. LEAVE THEM ALONE. Did you not notice that you have been chewed out all week for your inane and patronizing comments toward these people. . Are they even CLIENTS? I doubt it? Why? Because you don't have any clients, remember? In fact, I'm not 100% sure why you are here. I don't think I hate you but for the love of all that is holy and right in this world, quit talking so loudly and quit being so fake-chummy. You cannot sound sincere when you are talking that loudly with your teeth so tightly clenched." I would never say that, though because a lot of time, I feel really sorry for that dude.

To the other person, I would say, "Dammit, is it too much to ask that there be a supply of the envelopes we use? I mean... is that too much? Am I polluting the natural order of things with my request?Make no mistake, I appreciate your desire to not waste supplies, I do. I'm a Freecycler. I'm green. But here's the hitch: If you choose to only order 1 box of 100 envelopes that everybody needs, you need to NOTICE when there are only a few left and ORDER more. Why? Because when I come in and I need 25 of them for a client, I am taking up 25% of a resource that I share with 100 other people. What's that? You think my department should stock them for ourselves? You think wrong, mi amigo. We don't have room. You are Captain Supply - supply, so su-fucking-pply.
And you know what else? I am sick to death of running out of paper, having a super-messy supply room, and you trying to delegate your Captain Supply jobs to me. I am not Lieutenant Supply, do you dig? If I was an enlisted agent of supplying, THERE WOULD BE SOME FUCKING ENVELOPES LIKE THE ONES I NEED AND LIKE THERE ALWAYS WERE BEFORE. WHAT IS GOING ON HERE? I HATE CHANGE."
That guy.
Tolerance Level: Orange. Stop pushing.

I went to yoga last night and that was surprisingly fun. I thought it would be downright embarrassing but as it turned out, several months of slothitude and avoidance does a body good. I'd asked a friend if she wanted to go to yoga but I meant the Easy Class, which is a lie in and of itself. She already had plans to go to the Insane Torture Chamber of Yogic Horror. I made her level with me because, no shit, I have not been going to yoga at all. Without exaggeration, I'd bet I've been 4 times in the last 3 months and none of those 4 times has been at a challenging class. Or a class that lasts more than an hour, for that matter. Okay, basically "yoga" for me, lately, has been sitting cross-legged and sometimes bending over to touch my toes.
But I went and much to my surprise, I kicked asana. I swear to god, I managed to do this: Lying on my stomach, I skootched my legs all the way up the wall behind me until my hips were touching the baseboard. It was awesome, but not the most flattering angle on my gigantic J-Lo butt. Better pants might have made this a more appealing situation but I am still patting myself on the back for that one. Well, okay, I WOULD be patting myself on the back if I were less sore and actually able to reach my arm further than 4 inches straight out in front of me. Other movements with most of my muscles are not exactly possible at this time.
My horoscope was all, "Get your beef with someone out of the way and come back together for a beautiful partnership." I'm pretty sure that friendship can apply to a yoga practice, right?
Plus, having a yoga practice allows me to assume positions that wow my friends and enemies and makes me much more of a threat in general.

The only thing that really sucked is that unbeknownst to me, Princess Joseph painted my bathroom floor. My feet are already torn up from walking the d-o-double-g in flip flops and for picking at my heels, while I watch Big Brother, until there are caverns and scabby-looking entrails of heel skin. The dog lost my pumice stone somewhere so with my feet all nasty and now spottily covered in deep red enamel, I looked like I had big strawberry birthmarks on my feet.
Great for partner work in a yoga class.
I can't even talk about this anymore, it's that embarrassing.
Seriously, I'm breaking a sweat while I type it.
I think I'll need to mention this reaction when I go to the new head shrinker this afternoon.
I just hope she's not too nice and makes me cry all over the place because my nose is kind of runny today and add to the runniness some stress tears?

We can just take my nasty painted feet and my snotty nose and bloodshot eyes and if I worked hard enough, I could come up with a whole freaking list of physical shortcomings that are really gross but since I'm no longer complaining, I can't make that list...
anyway, we can take all that stuff and prop it into a swively cubicle chair and call it Sarah.

arizonasarah at 11:30 a.m.

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