There are some mornings where, if you examine your life even the teeniest little bit, it'll just make you want to slit your wrists or something.

(Okay, seriously, I don't know why I always say that, 'cause if I was gonna do something that stupid and that drastic, it sure as hell wouldn't be slitting my wrists. But you get the sentiment, right?)

So, I'm sitting at my desk at work --- in my little cubicle --- and there's nothing to do. Literally. I was sitting there, staring at the wall, examining my non-existent fingernails, thinking about last night's episode of Big Brother: All Stars and that's when the thought, "What the fuck am I doing?" floated through my head.

And with me, it's always some existential-angst-ridden question, too --- one that never really gets answered.

In this one episode of Six Feet Under, Nathaniel says, "Life's wasted on the living."

No kidding.

I'm trying to get away from thinking about stuff like that, though, 'cause sometimes, I really get what Brad Pitt was talking about when he said he gets really sick of himself. Though, if you're Brad Pitt, what's there to be bored of? You're with Angelina Jolie, have cool friends like George Clooney, get to travel around the world and act like you're better than everybody else 'cause you can afford to take time off, travel to a place like Africa, donate tons of money and help out by drawing attention to the plight of the people there.

Um, yeah. So why was he complaining about being sick of being himself, again?

At least he doesn't have to shlepp to work every day on a commuter train that smells like really bad b.o. and sit across from a woman who's got toe nails that should have seriously been clipped, like, three weeks ago. They were like friggin' weapons. She could have stabbed somebody just by kicking them.

I think there's something about the air in this office building that makes you feel hungry all the time. Seriously. The building's connected to the underground PATH, so there's a huge food court connected on the concourse level. But when I think about walking to the elevator and then making my way down, I just figure it'd be easier to walk to the watercooler and fill up on water, instead. I figure stuffing my face every couple of hours can't be healthy. I don't know why, but I just kinda get the sense that all the extra weight would just go straight to my ass and the other day, I was crammed into a subway car next to this girl who had an enormous butt. And I'm not talking J.Lo proportions, either. I mean, this just looked weird. (Hence, the inappropriate staring.)

But back to the watercooler...whenever I'm walking past that thing, somebody always comes along and has something to tell me. And yeah, maybe this isn't something I should be admitting to, but a huge part of me finds office gossip to be wholly entertaining. What can I say? It helps pass the time --- though, after awhile, it just starts becoming really old and that's when I start thinking that maybe it's time to switch jobs and find myself a new place to work.

The Best Friend's doing this BBQ thing at her place this weekend. She started telling people about it, like, four weeks ago, and now she's starting to regret it 'cause she's feeling lazy and doesn't want anybody over this weekend, anymore. I didn't bother telling her that I didn't feel like going in the first place and was only going because I'd bailed the last time. What can I say? The older I get, the less social I am. Not that I'm some crazy recluse or anything, but I just don't have any interest in meeting new people or making new friends. It always makes me feel like I'm back in grade school.

I realized (belatedly) this morning that the calf-length pants (not quite capris) which I'd swore up and down I wouldn't ever buy or wear...well, I actually owned a pair from way back when and now, I'm a mindless fashion sheep, just wearing what everybody else is wearing.

But seriously, who gives a shit?

It's so cold in the office today. I feel like I'm about to succumb to hypothermia.