My perm is a total disaster! It smells like dead poodle for reals! I am forced to cloak my head in a Confederate flag bandana!

Obviously, the cubicle is all mine this week, my cubiclemate having fled for the Bahamas. The place is thrashed already. Pizza boxes piling up, keyboards beer-sticky, dead hooker rolled up in a carpet under the desk. Pants totally optional. Currently on hold with Home Depot, pricing various privacy-installation options for the old “cube” here: bead curtain, mosquito netting, Les Nessman invisible door, some sort of dramatic canopy emblazoned with the spectral visage of Jim Morrison. Grinding up Cinnamon Altoids into a fine dust with my Williams-Sonoma Mortar ‘n’ Pestle and snorting it into my sinuses so my thoughts are suddenly alive with pleasure. Assembling punji sticks out of thumbtacks and sharpened pencils. Abandoning email entirely and instead writing brief messages on Post-Its and folding them into paper cranes and hand-delivering them to my correspondents. It’s a big week, it’s a good week, it’s a week filled with love.