On a scale of one to Muriel, I’m terrible. I’m no neurologist, but I suspect my mouth is connected directly to my brainstem. It often runs way ahead of my crippled cerebellum and by the time my two long-suffering brain cells arrive on the scene, the valves controlling the floodgates of consequence have been smashed to tiny bits.
My burial in the nether regions of the office is starting to feel normal. The solitude is helpful in moderating my more self-destructive impulses when dealing with management. I have more time to Think About What I Have Done and it gives me the opportunity to spend quality time bonding with the rat that lives in my hard-hat.
The stimulus deprivation hallucinations are fun, too.