Zack's Anger Diary: Don't Move My Cheese

March 27, 2018


Dear Diary …


You know … I must just be different than everybody else on the planet.  I mean, of course there’s that whole, “Oh we’re all different in our own special way” … that whole thing.  But what I’m learning in particular is that I must not want stuff in the same place as any other human in my life.


Every single morning when I get to work … stuff is ALL over the place.  All the settings for the radio station are changed.  All my buttons are tweaked and messed with.  All my computer screens are facing in weird directions.  Pretty much everything is changed.


Now … as best I know … nobody around here does anything drastically different with this studio.  And yet … they’re tweakin’ more than a meth head dyin’ for a fix.


Then … I go home … furniture is all over the place.  Stuff is just in the middle of the floor.  And remotes for the TV?  God knows where those things are.  When I use them, I put them on the armrest of the chair I’m sitting in.  Plain and simple.


When the children use them … As best I can tell it is their mission to make sure the things are hidden as much as humanly possible so nobody else can change it away from their God awful YouTube channels they watch.


Of course … now that I think about it … maybe I’m the weirdo since I’m the one who wants things a different way.  Everybody else in my life probably says, “Curse you Zack Jackson … you moved all our stuff again!”  Yeah … well … too bad!!  I ain’t changing!!


Moving on Diary …


As anyone with children knows, you are asked to wear many different hats in your day … parent, spouse, friend, advisor, etc.  But in the eyes of your children, the single most important hat you wear each day is simple … person who goes and gets them snacks.  Every day.  As many times as possible.


To them, you are merely an extension of the kitchen pantry, and you should be available to deliver delicious snacks into their tiny little devil mouths on demand, whenever their little bellies desire.


And here’s my favorite shenanigan …


“Daddy … when you get get up, can you get me some Goldfish?”


Yeah, sure, I can do that when I get up.


Which of course is then immediately followed up ten seconds later with …


“Daddy … when are you getting up?  I said I wanted Goldfish!!!”


Oh pardon me, my Liege! And if you’re lucky enough to have more than one child, you can be rest assured that they will never ever coordinate their snack demands.  The second you return with Goldfish … “Ooooh … can I have Goldfish too?”  GAHHHHH!!!!!!


And God forbid you tell them to get their own snacks.


“But I just sat down!”


Oh … my bad Your Highness.  I forgot that the Royal Legs are to be worshipped much more than these sad old sticks your servant calls legs.  Where’s my butler uniform?  I might as well at least look the part if I’m gonna be treated this way!


Till next time Diary … I say … Goodbye.



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