On the desirability of massive retaliation

It's been nearly two months since my bosses ordered me out of the office in the hopes of recovery at home (that didn't go well, obviously).

So I have now reached the point where I can make it to the nearest busstop (slowly) and get around a bit on crutches outside, greatly increasing my independence. I don't have to rely on friends and family to get every little thing done for me. Hurts a fair bit to walk around any distance though, but between stoicism, sheer manly grit, and that sweet sweet morphine, I can cope.

Yesterday I took myself, my crutches and my horrible horrible beard - hey, I haven't mentioned the beard! It was impossible to sit up and shave while in hospital, and I now look much like Charlie Manson. Bushy untrimmed growth, wild staring eyes and uncertain personal hygiene. I was horribly surprised when part of it grew out grey. In my mind's eye, I resemble Tom Selleck of the Magnum PI days. My friends point out that my mind's eye is completely deluded.

Where was I? Oh yeah - yesterday I took myself, my crutches and my horrible horrible beard back to work to drop off some paperwork. I tried getting there late, but was still ambushed by cow-orkers who proceeded to embarass the hell out of me by pretending to be glad to see me, by being solicitious and opening doors for me, and by complimenting the face fungus.

I can't stand it. I'm going to have to shave it all off, and proceed to be as obnoxious as possible to these people in order to get my life back on its normal keel. Fear and loathing is more than just a book; it's my favourite workplace relationship mode. Besides, I've had people complain the new office is too quiet without me there.

But never mind - the weather is lovely, tomorrow is Saturday, and the bikinis are swarming on the beaches of Oriental Bay. I have no need to worry about work, and I have the perfect excuse to sit down and drool while watching - it's pain from the back, you know. That's my story and I shall stick to it.