We know how she feels.

Yesterday saw another event of the urinary kind here at Binkomonster. One of our four staff members stealthily left a fluid deposit down in the entryway. An incident that not only assured an olfactory assault, but also damaged some artwork. Note to selves: first floor no longer suitable repository for the Picasso, Rembrandt and Shag. Based on some CCSI (Cat Crime Scene Investigation), we deduced our primary suspect to be the Woobster. In an effort to stem further retaliation, she got to take an evening stay in the bathroom/hospital ward. Further note to selves: Wooby hates confinement. Of any kind. Her alternating pitiful and angry warbling was enough to both disturb sleep, and engender sadness at her current state of feeling.  Which is further compounded by our own misery from, oddly enough, a closed door. Though ours is of the opportunity flavor. Without going into the gory granular, suffice it to say that the situation can be summed up as follows: 1. Opportunity presented  2. Door is open a little bit/peeking through/see a glimpse 3. Things get quiet 3. Opportunity is beginning to look like a 'carrot being strung along on a wire' 4. Door starts to close, and finally 5. Door slams and lock turns. No hope of entry.  Now the wiser will ask whether we pushed or scratched on the door in an effort to signal desire to explore that path? And the answer is no. There was no clawing, and there was no leaning or pushing. There was just a series of hard clear knocks that hopefully made apparent the desire. It appears that perhaps using the doorbell might have been a better idea. But nonetheless, there is deep disappointment, and the beginning of the deep dip on the roller-coaster. To put it in more of a succint fashion: this sucks. We've always railed and ranted at the current 'working for the man' situation, but this puts things in a new light. The feeling of 'not belonging' takes a strong surge. The feeling of being 'pigeon-holed' is layered on top of that. Add in a sprinkle of conspiracy theory (are they on the path to drive us out?), general self-doubt (not doing x,y,z should be doing a,b,c,d, e and f while sleeping and faster) and you have the perfect recipe for a blue fortnight. Wishing that our self-imposed holiday and visit to the East Coast offices were this week instead of next. For now, it is off to the gym. Not that it will change things or help, but perhaps moving the muscles around will bring some kind of relief.