Expense Reports

Saturday. Let me count the ways that I adore thee.

Following weekdays consumed by work, you represent sleep, brunch, friends, and, well, freedom.

Today, you were were going to be a catch up for three weeks worth of life (remembering what my roommates look like, getting snow in my running shoes, doing enough laundry to once again have a respectable amount of clean underwear)...stuff piles up when you travel for work, man, so Saturday morning, you were going to be glorious.

Until, that is, I remembered my expense report deadline.

Thus, dear Saturday, you instead devolved into slogging through three weeks worth of expenses and taking Cookie Monster's advice:

Dang it.


Two hours, three cups of coffee, and 50 line items of mentally shouting this (slightly modified) Shel Silverstein poem later,

Expense Reports! Oh, Expense Reports!
I hate you! You stink!
I wish I could wash you away in the sink,
if only a bomb
would explode you to bits.
Expense Reports! Oh, Expense Reports!
You're giving me fits.

I'd rather take baths
with a man-eating shark,
or wrestle a lion
alone in the dark,
eat spinach and liver,
pet ten porcupines,
than tackle the Expense Reports,
my company assigns.

Expense Reports! Oh, Expense Reports!
you're last on my list,
I simple can't see
why you even exist,
if you just disappeared
it would tickle me pink.
Expense Reports! Oh, Expense Reports!
I hate you! You stink!

this month's expense report has now been vanquished. Saturday, you are all mine again.

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