Day four hasn't been as bad as the previous days. Last night went smoothly. I made very few threats, but the Mindiacs seem to be learning their place.
The dreams were fairly normal, but to drive traffic, I'll suggest that they involved nubile, barely legal, cheerleader girls doing sexy things to each other in Lincoln Navigators. It is also possible that they were farm girls draping their naked bodies over Jeep Liberty hoods just outside of the haylofts where they later enjoyed Sapphic pleasures. (I leave it to the reader to figure out the interest in that particular poetic meter.) Based on the strange search patterns that show up in searches of this site, I'll suggest that the nude farm girls also had pointed ears.
The medicos annoy me a little. I made the mistake of telling them about my heart condition. I figured it would just make sure that I got my medicines. They put me on the cardio diet they would serve in the hospital. That means a breakfast of bland scrambled eggs, dry wheat toast, and half a pint of orange juice. I usually have my scrambled eggs full of tomatoes and peppers.
The Styrofoam™ breakfast failed to put me in the mood for the Mindiacs' latest shenanigans. About mid morning, they decided the office had negative energies and those energies had attracted a negative entity. Complete panic set in. It was impossible to concentrate on my work while they bickered and cried.
To put them at ease, I wrote a few "protective sigils" on the white boards in the office. I also had them smudge the room with a few bundles of white sage I keep in a draw. The sage is usually there to help cover up the odors that visitors leave behind, but I figured this was a good use too. After a little chanting, I convinced the Mindiacs to spend the rest of the day in quite meditation. I should have thought of that long ago. I'm pretty sure there will be another "haunting" tomorrow.
The Mindiac who caused all of this trouble, Disease Boy, seems to be feeling better. His fever dropped a few degrees and there's less moaning coming from the supply closet. With any luck, we'll be out of here in time for the weekend.
You gotta pick the right guy to do the job.
Go out now and vote for LibertyBob.