Whaddaya Mean Those Solid White Lines Aren't Discretionary?

All righty, time for something terribly witty and insightful. *insert nervous whistling here* Or maybe not. As I mentioned before, part of my neuroses is that I know that I am not being logical. Take my job. Please. *ba-dum-bump* In case you can't tell, I have a real love-hate thing going on with my job. I seriously dislike what I do for a living. No SERIOUSLY. To the point of contemplating whether having a heart attack or some minor accident that requires hospitalization might be preferable to going to work. Not so unusual you say. Here's the neurotic part: I live in constant terror of losing said job. Like I said, cracked.

Anyway, today's task was to to drive five to six hours one way for a one hour presentation. And then to drive five to six hours back because that obviously isn't far enough away to warrant spending the night away from home (I should mention that said company also has taken to only emptying the garbage a couple of days a week as a cost savings - so be careful what day you order Chinese for lunch). So I haul my rather sizable butt out of bed at 4 am and plop myself into the company car to drive to locations previously unknown for the next several hours (thank G-d for mapquest). Trip up is blissfully uneventful. Unfortunately, so is the presentation, which basically means I wasted a day presenting to people who had as much interest as a Catholic at a Baptist convention. So after putting a roomful of people into a coma, I'm ready to head back. One problem - splitting, vice-around-the-temples migraine. No problem, I have meds, right? Wrong. Taking said meds is a bit like being drunk. So do I drive with a splitting headache and hope that the road is straight enough in various locations to close my eyes for a few minutes, or do I take the meds, knowing they put me to sleep when I'm already sleep deprived? (I did opt for no drugs, thank you very much).

Have I mentioned lately that I love my job?