Wow, it’s been awhile since I’ve been here. Lucky for you, I am full of weather-related rage (I gave myself a Shoveling Blister yesterday removing what the weatherman referred to as “cement from the sky”), so let’s release the hounds, shall we?

At work, I’ve been hearing a few phrases more and more that irritate the everloving hell out of me. Please tell me you’ve heard this one before, because I hear it nearly every day, and it makes me feel instantly annoyed: How’s your bandwidth?

The first time I was asked this, (Shauna, how’s your bandwidth?) I proceeded to completely embarrass myself by saying, “What? You mean on my computer?” I had absolutely no idea — none whatsoever — that “How’s your bandwidth?” = “How busy are you?” And now that all of the writers here are completely stretched to our limits, I know this inane question is going to precede some asinine deadline and cause my blood pressure to spike. (Side note: I had my blood pressure tested at work Tuesday, immediately after three hours of stressful, last-minute projects announced by red exclamation-pointed emails, so my blood pressure was spectacularly high. Like, epic-fail high. Note to self: NEVER EVER EVER get my blood pressure tested at work. EVER.)

The other thing that I’ve been hearing more and more of lately is, “I’ve got a hard stop.” It’s said during meetings that are about to run long: “Sorry, but I’ve got a hard stop at 3:00.” It means the person has to leave right then because they have another meeting. I find the phrase supremely annoying in a corporate-speak way, but the good news is that whenever someone says it, the meeting abruptly adjourns and EVERYONE leaves, even if we’re not actually done. I love that.

Today, I’m in meetings from 1:00 to 5:00 (least-favorite thing: afternoon meetings on Fridays) so you can bet as soon as the clock says 5:00, I’m going to be the first person to pop up and say, “I’ve gotta go. I’ve got a hard stop at 5:00.” Because I have a meeting immediately afterwards with my husband, the couch and some pork chops.

Yesterday my boss got a package. He wasn’t here, so a co-worker signed for it. It looked like this:

My co-worker couldn’t believe how light it was: “It feels like nothing is in here!”

Turns out she was mostly right.

This morning, my boss opened the box:

To reveal the world’s longest unbroken length of kraft paper:

There was so much, that when we straightened it out later, it was the length of at least four cubicles.

In my head, I pictured the packaging guy grabbing this:

And then hearing a really great song come on the radio, compelling him to temporarily lose his faculties and dance wildly around the warehouse while twirling the paper.

Anyway, my boss finally got rid of the paper to reveal:

A padded envelope.

And in that small padded envelope was:

A computer mouse.

So, to sum up, here are the correct steps for packaging a computer mouse:

1. Place mouse in small padded envelope.
2. Place small padded envelope in gigantic cardboard box.
3. Stuff the crap out of the box with 47 feet of kraft paper.
4. Send package to arrive a month and a half after order is placed.

Me: Paper jam? Are you serious?!?

Printer #1: What’s wrong, sugarplum?

Me: I have worked here for a YEAR AND A HALF, and I have yet to be able to come over here and just pick up my printout.

Printer #1: Well, you know, it’s like that meme says.

Me: What meme?

Printer #1: That printer meme: “One does not simply print out a document.”

Me: That’s not a thing.

Printer #2: Ooh, ooh! Try printing to me!

Me: No.

Printer #2: Why not?

Me: Because every time I do, you ask me if I want to print my document on 11 x 17 paper.

Printer #2: So?

Me: I NEVER need to print on 11 x 17.

Printer #2: But if you say you do, then you’ll get your document.

Me: No, what happens is that I finally hit “OK,” and then you give me a paper jam — like the one I’m staring at right now.

Printer #2, chuckling: Yeeeeeeaaaaahhh. Actually, this one’s not even from your document.

Me: Argh. OK, where is this supposed “paper jam”? Your instructions just say to open the door on the right side.

Printer #2, mimicking the creepy dude from Saw: I want to play a game.

Me: Oh my god.

Printer #2: Isn’t technology the best?

Me: OK, I found it. Why can’t I pull it out?

Printer #2: That’s what she said.

Me: Shut up. Ouch! Why is it 600 degrees inside here?

Printer #1: Ooh, you better put a salve on that.

Me, after tearing a piece of paper into 347 pieces before finally removing it: ARRRRGH! OK, it’s out.

Printer #2, humming: Just checking the paper path.

Me: Hurry UP.

Printer #2: Now I just need to warm up…

Me: You’re already ON, why would you need to WARM UP???

Printer #2: I don’t want to pull a hammy.

Me: Jesus Christ.

Printer #1: Ha, ha! Looks like you’re gonna be late for your meeting! You know, you should be more organized.

Me: Don’t even start. Hey, here’s a question for you: How come you two are labeled as printers #233 and #237, but on my computer, you show up as #6040 and #6042?

Printer #1: Just trying to keep things interesting.

Me: That’s stupid.

Printer #2: But fun!

Me: Anyway, back to my original point: Neither of you have ever correctly printed anything on the first try.

Printer #1: That’s not true. I print error-free documents all the time!

Me: Are you referring to those BLANK pieces of paper you spend 20 minutes “printing”?

Printer #1: Yes. Error-free. That’s what I said.

Me: You know, you two were the reason PDFs were invented.

Some of you have noticed the irony of me frantically working long hours while writing pieces on reducing stress and achieving an ideal work-life balance. Don’t worry; I also spend long hours sitting at my desk while trying to convince people to “make time for exercise!” Ridiculous.

It is a little funny (in a “ha-ha-shoot-me” kind of way) that I spend my entire working life (and some of my non-working life since work is blurring that line) writing about how to be healthier while I distinctly feel my own health getting worse.

Years from now, when I think about the defining moment where I finally felt “old,” I’ll be able to pinpoint it to the Summer of 2012, at age 38. Because good God, I feel positively ancient.

I know all about the dangers of sitting all day, and yet, despite a few mediocre attempts to wear a pedometer (the number of steps I take a day would rival an infant’s), use the walking treadmills at work, or go walking during work with a coworker, I spend nearly 9 hours straight sitting. I eat lunch at my desk because I’m usually so busy I can’t even think about leaving, not unless I want to work later, come in earlier, or work more from home.

Don’t get me wrong. Like Jason likes to taunt me, this is still my “dream job.” It’s just that the company has been undergoing huge changes. I think they’ve let about 250 people go recently and there’s a hiring freeze. And all that work seems to be funneling itself to our group. (I cannot even talk about the nearly 100% possibility that our group will be moving to a new location. A location that will add at least 30 minutes to my current 10-minute morning commute, and approximately 347 years to my current 25-minute evening commute. Because I can barely think about that possibility without giant flames shooting out of my head. Because that would equal EVEN MORE SITTING.)

All of this is taking a toll on my body. My geriatric hip aches all night; I can barely stand to have Shorty in my lap because I can’t cross my legs anymore without feeling a burning, aching sensation. At night, I feel caught in the clutches of what I can only describe as Adult Onset Growing Pains.

I’d go to the doctor, but honestly, when my leg hurts, it’s nearly impossible to specify where it hurts: there’s just a giant ache deep in my bones.

I haven’t been working out in the mornings because I’ve been going in early or logging in at home, and I haven’t been working out at night because I’ve been working late or I’m just plain too exhausted to do anything but try to find a comfortable position on the couch. Even when I do work out, my leg still aches.

Obviously, there needs to be some changes. I just need to figure out what.