son of a bush

It's my new phrase, though my mother musn't hear me use it.

There's been a snow storm in my little salmon-colored cubicle! Actually, I've just become a huge paper slob. I have reference papers, job jackets, and final reads scattered and piled on my overflowing desk. My only option: on to the floor. My chair is encircled in a fan of white. Besides, sitting on the floor is a good way to break up the day and resist conforming to the professional identity.

My phone rang, I thought it was the veterinarian I had just gotten off the phone with.
"Good afternoon, this is [me]," I said.
"Hellooo [yooou]," replied a fakely deep voice. Weird. "It's [your ex]," he continued.
My thoughts: Why are you calling me at work? Hello: e-mail, my cell phone.
"Hey, what's up," I said in a semifake cheerful voice.