This last weekend was by far the strangest weekend ever. Although unreported in the media, about a month earlier some eco-terrorists attacked a nearby laboratory that was doing tests on chimps. They freed the animals, and in doing so unwittingly let a “Rage” virus into the wild.

I apparently contracted that virus, and on Friday was all-but-out-of-my-mind furious. I didn’t bother clocking in at work that day, because killing people on the clock isn’t exactly career-enhancing.

That irrational rage carried over into Saturday, causing me to bail out—at the last second—of attending John’s Christmas party that evening. Perhaps not surprisingly, I also took 4-5 hour naps each day, above and beyond a full night’s sleep.

(Incidentally, it’s really weird to be damn near as furious as you’ve ever been, and to simultaneously recognize that there’s logically no reason for you to feel the way you are.)

By Sunday my anger had dissipated, leaving me to my excessive sleep. That continued through Monday (another stellar day of little work done), and only started petering out yesterday. Today’s the first day that I really survived the whole day without collapsing partway through.

That thing completely wiped me out. Trip to Costco? Three hour nap. Thinking about going to work? Two hour nap. Ugh.

…

Despite (i.e. because of) my weakened condition, in yesterday’s meeting I managed to ask my boss, in not as few words, if he really expected us to buy the bull he was selling. [In short, I am Asok in today’s Dilbert.] The meeting afterwards was full of awesome stuff, such as fallacious slippery-slope arguments, complete rewrites of history, and ham-fisted “I want it this way so I’ll keep talking until you agree with me”-fu.

I think I’ve established myself as not-a-fan of current practices. I expect that I’ll be out of a job once I’ve finished automating the office (I also suspect that I’d already be out, if I weren’t in such a critical position)—and, knowing human nature, my bosses will likely play nice with me, while their dislike of me festers, until that day arrives. Fun times are (most likely) ahead.