Getting Shit Done

Everyday when I sit down at work, I think that, yep, that's it, this is the day, today's the day I'm gonna get some shit done. Then some jackass decides to interrupt me as I am settling down to write on my blog. What? Does he think his report is more important than the blogosphere? The world will not end if he does not get his quarterly sales report, but if I don't put a post up, some kid out there is going to decide that he's going to end his life and become straight. We have a freakin' gay agenda to take over the world by recruiting young teens into our ranks. The world has not yet seen the strength of our wills, the firmness of our resolve, or our fearsome, killer outfits. We have the ability to cut you down from twenty feet away with a devastating, hurled insult.

At first I tried to get some blogging done over the lunch hour, thinking that this would be a good way to be a conscientious worker while using company property for my own private use. I figure they cancel each other out. However, this plan backfired because people seemed to think that even though I had a sandwich in one hand, since I was still sitting at my desk, I was fair game for more of their bullshit work.

To disguise my activities at work, I type my posts into a Word document and then cut-and-paste it into Blogger later. I will usually also have a fake spreadsheet up on my screen so that the combination Word-Excel documents on my screen makes it look like I am hard at work crunching numbers, even though I'd much rather be crunching my abs.

I've had to do this at work because my boyfriend doesn't like how much time I spend on my blog at home. He complains that sometimes he feels that I am not paying attention to him, especially when he's giving me blowjob and I am typing at the same time. What? I'm multi-tasking! Once, he got so angry that he walked away before I came--that was just petty.

He told me that I didn't know how to prioritize. He said, "We're gay, sex should be all-consuming to us. What's next? Hair care products? I'm putting an end to this now."

Contrite, I went over to him on the couch and put my arms around him. "I will love you for as long as I live," I said, "but the love I declare for you in a blog post will live forever in cyberspace. Think about it." I am usually not so mushy, but I really, really wanted to come very badly; my blue balls were killing me. But he didn't buy it.

So now I am forbidden to blog at home. Occasionally, I would try to sneak in a couple of comments in my friends' blogs while I am taking a crap. Once, I even pretended that I was taking a shower just so that I could write down an idea I had for a blog post before I forgot it. But more or less, I don't blog at home anymore.

At least my boyfriend hasn't forbidden all use of my laptop computer. I can still use it for legitimate purposes like surfing for gay porn.

Thank God for small miracles.


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If you're blogging from work, don't get dooced.


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