Extraneous Notes in Citrus Sharp

One of the two toilets in the bathroom is soiled again. Cantaloupe-colored splash with gelatinous chunks has dried down the front of the seat. How does this happen? Further, how does it happen more than once? There has been a cleaning, and then there it was again. I too shit, and sometimes in this very toilet, and never has this even been an almost. Let me remind the blog world that I work in a hospital.

The previously mentioned orange-faced man of mysterious profession who goes back and forth in the hallway is standing outside my office. I believe he is having a conversation with one of the doctors. I have no idea what he is saying. His speech sounds like a door-stop having been pulled and let go, amphetamined, on the brink of stutter yet holding balance. A balance that distinctly unsettles my esophagus.

Despite the above dreadful orangitudes, it has been a good day of editing and general peace in office world. I think many office folk are out today. Since I don’t have a window I can pretend it’s spring and that my Grace isn’t covered in salt. I can also pretend I'm in Rome.