I do. And I'ma tell you why...
I just got back from a week long vacation.
I was lavished with fine food and liquor in the lap of luxury by beautiful women wearing flowing silken cloth tied around their long, supple, tan bodies. I was rolled in warm sand and washed clean in cool salt water by scores of naked nymphs who poured jars of fragrant oil over me as I ate exotic fruits held to my lips by blindfolded, mute eunuchs. I was given many colonics of the finest kona coffees by large, hairy, German women in too-small white nurses uniforms stained with the feces of only the most important of the worlds tin-pot dictators and most accomplished fetishists. I hunted only the most endangered of large game, with the most dangerous of explosives, and burned hundreds of hectares of exotic tropical wood at the evening ritual suicides. I was inducted into the most secret of societies by having sex with a full-grown female peacock and pledging the offspring's virginity to Viktor Yanukovych. I tipped like a Canadian and peed in the hot tub.
Maddmom was there too.
You might think that I would be relaxed and refreshed after such a vacation. You might think I would be feeling like I could conquer the world. You might think a couple of shots of penicillin would be all that I needed to get right back into the swing of things.
You'd be wrong.
I went back to work at eight this morning and by quarter after I was up in the proverbial tower with the proverbial rifle. (This, by the way, is very close to last Tuesday evening's entertainment, "Snipe the Suckers". Where we were brought aloft in a hot-air balloon made of orphan skin and powered by the burning of rhino horn and given points for shooting blond-haired American women off of the decks of cruise ships. It's great fun, but may be getting way too popular. The pros have their own channel on cable.)
By noon, my acid reflux had caused me to down four bottles of very expensive, polar-bear flavored bottled glacial water and I really felt that it was time to either get a new job or go on another vacation. Since I can't really do either, I realize that maybe the reason everything sucks is because everyone thinks everything sucks, but doesn't realize that everything sucks just as bad for everyone else. Consequently, everything sucks. So. I think we should all chill. Expect the worst, prepare for the worst, and enjoy the mild surprise if it isn't the worst. Like when the lights come on at a blindfold orgy. It might not be super fun if you spend all your time thinking that you're getting hoovered by the seventy year-old Italian guy with the hairy back you saw at the buffet, but if that's what you're thinking, then the old lady from Florida with the leather-like nipples the size of dinner plates and the orange wig won't seem so bad at the end. You know?
Anyway, that's what I'm going with.