What Happens When I Get Cranky

Please understand, just for starts, I love my job. Genuinely and unsarcastically, I love my job with all the joy that was sucked out of my heart and replaced with mostly cynicism back around the time I quit Girl Scouts. Accounting is a license to be nosy, and I try to contain it, but I am the nosiest person you know. If I had understood how much fun there was to be had in accounting back when I was in college, I would have thrown over my English major and walked out with some kind of business degree, and that would probably be true even if I had known then what I know now about the actual proportions of juicy scandal to trivia about local real estate ownership.

So I love my job. I love that I get to work with numbers. I love having co-workers and talking to them. I love the intellectual minutia of my profession (I love intellectual minutia of many kinds). I love that I can sit someone down over coffee for a rousing discussion of LTV vs. CAC and roll that right on over into lunch and spreadsheets.

Just, jesusgoddamnfuck I am cranky today. The office wifi wasn't working, so I went to work from home, which meant I could not physically storm the sales office when I was sent a contract (in .pdf, so I couldn't even EDIT the bastard) that basically said that for a shiny penny from 1983, we will let the customer have our entire teapot reinvention service department for a year and a half, and also they can send an auditor at their option and our expense to ask about the color of my panties, and if we are very nice they will put the penny through the souvenir machine at a science museum before they pay it.

MY PANTIES HAVE DARTH VADAR ON THEM AND I AM UP TO MY EARS IN SOUVENIR SMOOSHED PENNIES, OKAY?