Sing Me To Sleep

OK, you know something is wrong when lyrics from a Smith's song are bang on with your life, and not in an ironic way. "I was looking for a job and then I found a job, and heaven knows I'm miserable now." The sad thing is that I've just been doing things at the new firm that I could've done with my eyes closed on a tightrope juggling a chainsaw, a flamethrower, and a really gassy monkey just a year ago, yet I'm tired and moody and emotional, sniff sniff. How emotional? That a non-response and a no-reply from two match.com chicks are making me go all panicky and weepy that, in less than a year, I'll be a miserable sod in a cruddy beige suit chasing ambulances and coming home to an apartment empty save for 20 cats and boxes of porn. Boxes and boxes of porn. (OK, the whole boxes of porn thing maybe isn't so bad.)