itch.

My desk is surrounded by gift baskets.  Every time someone brings one over I feel as though I am loved.  In a giddy prepackaged chocolates kind of way. 

They’re not mine.  Noone in the company is allowed to accept gifts from suppliers, so really my desk is some sort of gift basket burial ground.  OF CELLOPHANE DELIGHT!

We’re auctioning them all off on Christmas.  Huzzah!

I AM STILL NOT DONE CHRISTMAS SHOPPING.  FUCK!

My stupid best friend bought me something she’s rather excited about and I’m all "Well, here’s a generic gift set from the Body Shoppe.  No, I can’t.  I’m fairly certain she bought me jewelry again.  She got me earrings last year (I bought her almost identical ones… fate?  Hello?) and I believe she’s done the same thing again.  I never wore the earrings she gave me and I have no idea where they are. 

Fortunately I have to go to my doctor today and so I’ll likely sneak into the mall and deal with my fear of picking the wrong semi-precious stones.

EW, THE DOCTOR!

WHEN will this week end?  I have to spend Thursday prepping for Friday, then Friday is the main event.  All carolers and balloon twisters and Santa arriving on a fire truck for some reason.  What is that, anyway?  Is it like, his city ride?  Only brings the reindeer out when there’s traffic on the roads or something?  My boss seems to think it’s amazing.  I guess kids love it too.  But it doesn’t MAKE SENSE.

In any case, I have to transcribe some shit now.  The CEO mumbles like nobody’s business.  Making me mental.