Counting Down to Retirement

Who else feels like their memoirs should be titled, "My Best Just Isn't Good Enough: A Look Into the Ugly Side of Near Constant Failure?" I've worked 13 hours so far today and I'm still going to miss a deadline. Ugh. That's my hand you see there in the horizon with the gnawed fingernails and nervous twitch sinking down into whatever fictional body of water you would like to envision. I'm personally imagining a mid-flush public toilet of grotesque magnitude...that feels about right. That hand movement you see there, it's not quite a wave, more like...oh, lets say...a desperate signal for help. Please don't ignore it. Do, DO send coping mechanisms straight away- I prefer chocolate and What Not To Wear marathons, but am open to exploring other ideas. I'll also be needing a copy of the classifieds. Chop chop.