Her Daily Meds

In the grand scheme of things, I realize my job is not my be-all end-all of existence. Or maybe it is. I don't know; there seems to be a lot of conflicting cultural perspectives on it, which have all carved out unrelenting but endlessly confusing channels in my brain - much like water dripping over stalactites over time, it's a drippy, bumpy mess up there. I am carved to believe that jobs don't matter. I am carved to believe that you are a fool to believe that jobs really don't matter. I am also a lady, which means that both sides are true and are accompanied by intense lady-pressure.  Sometimes from actual ladies (the kind who exist in the world outside my brain, saying and doing things), sometimes from pretend ladies (the ideal kind I constantly fret I'm supposed to be like, because they are much smarter, cooler, prettier, classier, more emotionally and mentally resilient than I, etc.). If my brain could talk, which I suppose it does if we can consider writing s...

Overwhelmament is my new noun/pet/state of existence, and It has so much mass that Its floppy ass is wrapped around both of my shoulders. I imagine this butt to be the blue of a cloudy October sky, and that tiny legs and feet are likewise slung around me. Overwhelmament has tiny arms that are  clinging to me by my temples, which explains the pervasive headache. I have no idea where Its head is because it is mostly looming behind me, but I assume it is somewhere up Its ass. It occasionally giggles, maliciously and at a grating high pitch. I think when It looks up - to share a laugh with the Universe at my expense - it has a banana-shaped face, pink eyes, and three scraggly cartoon hairs. I think Overwhelmament lives at my desk, waiting for me to check my email. I wish I knew a better way to deal with Overwhelmament, which I never really had a problem with in any other workplace. I like my workplace, but it has some issues. One of them is that Overwhelmament comes with the packag...