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it smells like winter
 On a scale of The Office (orginal version) where 1 is "not at all like The Office" and 10 is "exactly like The Office," my workplace is about a 9. It loses a point because the racism and sexism is a little less overt and because it isn't a paper company. This is frustrating mainly because any hopes I had of turning this crazy experience I have been living into fodder for a hit British sitcom have been dashed.
Apologies, as usual, for being out of touch. I have been busy losing my mind and finding (parts of) it again. The change of season came so quickly this year, and I wasn't prepared. Of course, the whole thing coincided with eleventy frillion other all-around bad things happening to me, so I was a little distracted, (denial is hard work), and my mild seasonal affective disorder had blown up into full fledged depression before I even had a chance to adjust to the time change.
So, things were a bit stressful for a while there, but it appears they are starting to improve. The best evidence I have for this so far is that, despite receiving even more disrupting news this past week, I've stopped having heart-stopping nightmares of mortal peril every night and started instead to dream that I am living with indie rockers and fully fictional characters from television shows. This is a little bit embarrasingly adolescent, but so is the fact that I am having nervous breakdowns all the time. I feel like I am 16 again. I need to start light therapy again ASAP, because clearly I have a chemical imbalance.
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