Please, make the lambs stop screaming.
What a fucking day.
I'm covering for Jen, who is on vacation. It is all her fault that I'm having a fucked day.
Heh. Not really, but it makes me feel better to blame her.
Really, the stuff I'm covering is not hers yet, it belongs to another person who is leaving soon and for whom Jen will be taking over - who is also on vacation, as it happens. So really? It's all her fault.
There, now I made Jen feel better, too. Speaking ill of a person makes their ears burn... does typing ill of them make their fingers burn? Or no, to follow that analogy to its logical conclusion, it would have to be their eyes that burn. Thus I ponder.
I wonder what it is about covering for someone that makes everything go wrong at once the moment their Out Of Plant notice is up? I swear, at one point I was e-mailing, talking on the phone, and conducting two separate IM conversations, all about different things that were going wrong at the same time. I'm not even kidding.
I would speak more about what makes work so fucked, but I'm trying to avoid getting dooced. (And yes, I searched Wikipedia to see if someone had written a definition of my website. Alas, nothing. I am, I admit, not as interesting as Heather and do not deserve to impact cultural slang.)
But, the salad I'm eating for lunch is making me happy. Spinach and lettuce and candied pecans and dried cranberries and diced chicken and diced melon and poppyseed dressing and cubed swiss cheese. Gastronomical goodness. Though something this calorie-laden should not be termed a salad. It's misleading.
And yet, I eat.
I'm covering for Jen, who is on vacation. It is all her fault that I'm having a fucked day.
Heh. Not really, but it makes me feel better to blame her.
Really, the stuff I'm covering is not hers yet, it belongs to another person who is leaving soon and for whom Jen will be taking over - who is also on vacation, as it happens. So really? It's all her fault.
There, now I made Jen feel better, too. Speaking ill of a person makes their ears burn... does typing ill of them make their fingers burn? Or no, to follow that analogy to its logical conclusion, it would have to be their eyes that burn. Thus I ponder.
I wonder what it is about covering for someone that makes everything go wrong at once the moment their Out Of Plant notice is up? I swear, at one point I was e-mailing, talking on the phone, and conducting two separate IM conversations, all about different things that were going wrong at the same time. I'm not even kidding.
I would speak more about what makes work so fucked, but I'm trying to avoid getting dooced. (And yes, I searched Wikipedia to see if someone had written a definition of my website. Alas, nothing. I am, I admit, not as interesting as Heather and do not deserve to impact cultural slang.)
But, the salad I'm eating for lunch is making me happy. Spinach and lettuce and candied pecans and dried cranberries and diced chicken and diced melon and poppyseed dressing and cubed swiss cheese. Gastronomical goodness. Though something this calorie-laden should not be termed a salad. It's misleading.
And yet, I eat.
*hugs*
sorry :(
Posted by
jen |
8:48 AM