My adventures in the middle [of the] earth

Esta só lá vai em inglês, que me perdoem os puristas.


So, after I had gone to bed at the godly hour of 8am, I had been asleep by two hours only when my cell phone rang. It was a human resources company calling me for a job I had applied. An interview was appointed and soon I realised I couldn't go back to sleep.
So I realised it is impossible to carry on pretending to be thrilled about a job I don't even care about, not without some fantasy. It is a war, and it shall be led that way. Don't I carry a burden heavier than any Ring of Power? (More like a Ring of Slavery it seems to me.) So I got prepared in less than an hour and faced my gloomy fate that I had to leave the quietness of my protected little Shire and travel all the way to the darkness of Mordor. Mordor?! No. Mordor is hell. Mordor is work. To Minas Tirith! Minas Tirith? No? For it is a battle and this would be more like the council at Rivendell.
Aye, to Revendell it is!
The journey up those faraway lands was long and hard. The bus bumped more violently than a lame Shadowfax on heat.
Yet, I stood, and on to Rivendell, the council awaits!
In there, strange people that I reckon to be elven or orc-kindred (for human they were likely not!) of the human resources who were supposed to decide about my competence realised they had only printed the first page of my resume, therefore, not knowing of my past wondrous feats and deeds, dare I say, hardly knowing who I was at all and hardly recognising the whole purpose of my errand into their kingdom.
This is why, reader, I wearily made the journey back, on my horny Shadowfaxed bus, to come home and return to this virtual realm were I was bound to mail said resume to said creature who has to decide about my competence. (Perhaps we should use the magic of crystal balls instead since mail magic is not what people of that kingdom feel more comfortable with?... I shall ask for counsel on this, if indeed I ever return so far north. I don't think I will.)
So a warrior goes away to battle when a warrior must, and a warrior sleeps when a warrior can.
This said, I will have the aid of two magic pills (or more) to reenter the realm of Morpheus, whose arms, I fear, I shouldn't have left in the first place.
And this song will soon be forgotten in the Shire for this is no tale to tell except of the menacing shadow disturbing my already so fucked up sleeping patterns.

I could also tell you about how I was chased by evil trolls, servants of the Enemy of the IRS, that have a price upon my head but now is not the time. Must make haste! You'll have to buy the second book.