DIARY PAGES: Krampus

Three weeks. Three weeks from today, I'll be at the North Freaking Pole freezing my horns off. Sheldon (from the mail room) took me out for beer last night to give me a proper sendoff from the customer service call center (and from Florida, for that matter); dude is all right. I've long suspected that he can see through my glamour to the hairy heart of me ... and doesn't really give a crap. Total acceptance there. I wish I could practice total acceptance, too, but ... the elves, man. The. Elves. Every single one of them is wound up tight as a pa rum pum pum pum, high AF on peppermint. Blah blah blah krampuskin blah blah blah destiny blah blah blah chapping my damn hide. Sheldon bought me a shot of tequila to cap the evening, and I am much obliged. Gotta pack and fortify for the trip to Jollypalooza and that first stench of cookie dough rolling off of The Big Man as he comes in for a welcome hug. Just kill me.