Ceiling keeps raining on my head. Thankfully not big hunks of ceiling a la action movies, although I’m being cautiously optimistic that it’s not about to turn into full-blown tiles falling on my head. This is also more than your standard dust. This is the dust chunks that are being dislodged by the slightly grungy man playing with the pipes in the ceiling.
Guess who’s right under where he’s working. This kid.
I’m covered in a fine layer of dust and bits of that orange insulation stuff that my dad forbade me from ever touching as a child because he said it would be the itchiest thing ever even though it looked like cotton candy. I’m sorry dad. The sweaty man made them fall on me.
He just fixed a pipe using nothing but duct tape. I’m not sure how I feel about sitting under this.
Also my dust allergy is flaring up like I’m being viciously attached by the sandman.
Still, this is stupendous. Why? Well sneezing is always fun. I’m the kind who sneezes with the force of a mighty North Wind so it’s great for clearing the sinuses. Not to mention that I can trace little designs in the sea of dust particles that have coated my desk and can make pictures.
But most importantly. The ceiling dust is a sign of heat. Forthcoming, beautiful, blissful heat. Does the building have heat? Yupp. Does the office have heat? Yupp. Does my room have heat? Yupp. Does my particular corner of the room have heat?
The tiny portable heater and I have gotten well acquainted over the past few weeks. And I love it. We’re on good terms. But I too would like to bask in the glow of the giant central heating. And the ceiling bits landing on my head indicate that it is coming. Grunge man is fixing the problem.
Provided this duct tape thing really works.
So when it comes down it, I’m willing to dive into a non-lethal pool of ceiling bits if that’s what it takes to feel warm.
So ceiling bits, Keep falling. Just stay tiny. I can’t handle another concussion at work. I mean I work in an office. Once was embarrassing enough.