Those of you who have the unfortunate distinction of having followed this blog from early on know about my neverending struggle with the woman who cleans the bathrooms at work. It took me many weeks to decipher her cleaning patterns and time my defecatory jaunts in such a way as to avoid being interrupted in my business by the linguistically vague call of "Somebady-Hier?" She was a wily foe, mixing up her schedule randomly, but I had at last seemed to be able to intuit her movements and avoid her completely.
Until now.
There is a new cleaning lady, a different cleaning lady, and she follows a different pattern. Ridiculous, really, to even use the word "pattern." Her movements are surely governed by some kind of bizarre non-linear algebra, and are utterly impossible to predict. I am nursing a theory that she is a cog in some leviathan entropy machine, churning away at the dissolution of reality. "Cleaning Lady." The irony astounds me. "Amorphous blight of nethermost confusion," more like. If I didn't know her true masters were blind idiot horrors blaspheming and bubbling at the center of all infinity, I would applaud them their little joke.
Oh well. Mostly I just want to poo in peace. Is that too much to ask?
Comments