Splattered Paint

I feel like weeping. But I can't because I'm sitting in a conference room for all to see and that just isn't professional. Picture that: lonely executive sitting in empty conference room of advertising agency, weeping. Sounds like the name of a Jackson Pollock painting. Now that I mention it, I feel like a Jackson Pollock painting right about now. Paint splattered about in a pile of chaotic confusion.

Does anybody have a tissue?
I desperately need a tissue.

It was a rough day in the office today. I have four major proposals on my plate. They are all worth a fair buttload of moolah that would, on their own, each make for a good win for the company. Here's the catch: they are all due in 48 hours.

It is physically impossible to get them done. If I worked around the clock - no sleep, no food - and I were able to reduce my blinking by 50% to shave off some valuable seconds, I still would not be able to finish on time. Not even close.

But wait, there's more. We have four projects currently in motion, all of which are running into serious challenges. And if that's not enough to drive me batty, I had 10 conference calls yesterday and 7 more today. My throat hurts because I'm getting sick, but I'm sure that has nothing to do with the fact that I haven't slept more than 5 hours the past three nights.

At this point in time, my life feels like a toilet. And all I really want to do is flush.

Maybe I should get a different job.
Perhaps it's time for a new line of work.

I never liked Jackson Pollock's art in the first place.