Imperfections on a Monday Morning.

Not drinking makes me realize my many imperfections. Like when I'm critical of other people.  Allow me to indulge one criticism for a few moments.

Someone at the office makes bacon in the office microwave every morning.   It just stinks.  Somewhere between the smell of gasoline and sour sausage.  Don't get me wrong, I'm not a vegetarian, though I fully understand the reasons for becoming vegetarian, and I do like bacon generally, you know, like on Sunday mornings near some french toast and/or eggs.  Toast is usually involved.  But my breakfast of choice is really cereal, oatmeal mostly, with some frozen fruit mixed in at the start of the process.  It has a unique attribute in that it doesn't completely stink up the entire office, which I happen to like and notice.  Women are supposed to be more sensitive to smell than men, and if that's true, it means that this bacon really stinks and that foul criminal who spazzes this poor fatty meat to an even deeper sizzling death every morning--every morning mind you, sun or shine or cold with the windows closed--must be conscious of the fact that there is some serious wafting of aroma going on here.  I don't know if she makes it from the fully raw state, or if she just cooks it halfway at home, okay, but it doesn't matter.  There's enough factory farmed cheap fat to mark up the walls in yellow.  Seriously, just make something else for breakfast a few days each week.

And this, folks, is why I'm going to so productive.  Bacon flavored air to breathe, no whiskey in the coffee, and no coffee in fact, as it was spazzing me right into tremendous levels of lethargic stasis.  A weekend is behind us, bookending some piece of freedom now adrift in the ether of the past.