Tonight if aliens invade, or orcas attack, or I find myself suddenly at the mercy of a group of chipmunks who have somehow figured out how to invade my home and climb my loft bed, I have one plan and strategy alone.  I’m just going to lay here in bed and not move.  At all. I am that tired.  I seriously thought earlier that if aliens did invade I’d be super excited because either they would A. be wise and kind and have medical advancement that would be able to deal with my exhaustion and I’d feel fresh and renewed, or B. they shoot and kill me and the disintegration would be quick and I’d be in Heaven, and there would be no more exhaustion.  So, really, win/win.  I’m so tired, I don’t even care that my grammar is lousy tonight.

I still absolutely adore my job, even though it was a bit frustrating tonight.  I had three different people give me completely different sets of instructions about the same exact thing.  I was more than a little confused.  Plus, I felt my inner Sheldon trying so hard to scream, “You’re in my spot!”  Even though spots aren’t assigned at work, we all kind of have certain areas that are more or less our space.  My happens to have all sorts of helpful post-its hanging up with good reminders.  When I came back from supper, one of my coworkers had completely taken over my space.  Inside all I could think was, “You’re in my spot.  You. Are. In. My. Spot.”  Yeah, I’m thinking the counseling center might’ve been on to something by telling me that I have an adjustment disorder.  Anyway, I resisted the urge to actually vocalize my feelings, but I was a bit disappointed when my co-worker left, and didn’t put anything back.  That’s just not polite.  So, not only did I get to clean up the area I was working in, but I also had to put my normal area back in order.    Okay, yeah, I’m whiny and crabby.  I’m thinking I may need sleep.

I’m also thinking that I need to get my chimichanga and white queso on my way to work tomorrow.  I like having something special for lunch on Fridays.