Suz vs The Desk

I declare a vendetta.

This desk I am in hates me, and it has lashed out for the last time.

There is some kind of support beam running underneath it. The support beam is made of metal. It's got an edge that is not exactly soft and fluffy. This desk is foolishly designed in such a way that anyone over five feet tall is doomed to bang their knees against the support beam at one time or another.

This happened to me yesterday.

There I was, minding my own business, editing one page or another. I turned to write something down.

SCHUNK!

I loosed a series of profanities that miraculously only reached the ears of one writer, who politely asked if I was all right.

I staggered away.

I've hit my knees on the damn thing before, but this was a bad one. The bruising isn't too bad, but no amount of icing could keep it from puffing up overnight. Hence I'm wearing my comfy pants, which are ragged and huge and probably shouldn't be seen outside my apartment.

I can generally walk on it now. Stairs present a problem.

Trying to blame the general stupor I've been in today on last night's pills, but I'm wondering if I haven't come down with a bit of a virus, too. Did everything I could to keep from catching the flu that went around, and I think I'm in the clear as far as that goes...but after the pummeling the immune system doubtlessly took, it wouldn't surprise me if something's cropped up.

Anyway, back to the desk.

It has roused my ire, and therefore it's going to pay. As of yet, I do not have any clue how to make a construct of fake wood and metal bow to my will (or at least apologize for being an asshole) but I'm open to ideas.

Or, you know, chainsaws.