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So I�m back among the living, at least somewhat. I�m back at my desk, anyway, and I�m not throwing up any more. These are good things. My throat still hurts, and my eyes are still all puffy, and I still feel rather like I want to curl up and go to sleep, but I can function like an upright, evolved human today, at least on the surface.
I�ve spent a good part of my morning compiling data for Donna on a bitchy employee who has given me a hard time in the past. She was out on medical leave for ten weeks, and now doesn�t feel that her vacation balance is quite high enough since her return. In reviewing her file, I�ve found that she�s used over 60 hours of vacation she didn�t own yet (she hasn�t yet been her for six months), AND she accrued another 35 while she was on leave that doesn�t belong to her, either. She�s going to end up owing the hospital money, when all is said and done. And I don�t feel the least bit bad about it.
Let me tell you, folks. If you treat me badly, if you�re rude and condescending and snippy with me, if you act like you�re a higher class of person just because I�m a secretary and you�re not, you�d better hope you never need my help. What can I say? I think it�s the Sicilian in me!
I passed most of yesterday in a big Jennifer-shaped lump on my bed, then on my couch. I did manage to wash my sheets and blankets with the hope that it would help improve my health levels. I also managed to make a sample invitation to the bridal tea we�re planning for my cousin Diana. I love these invitations. But I�m so glad I only have to make six. The sample took me an hour, and I knew basically what it would look like when I started.
While I was cutting and pasting, I watched Passions. Yesterday, Sam and Grace�s house sank into the depths of Hell because Timmy, trying to save Charity, Miguel and Kay, threw a demon claw into the portal that had appeared in the closet.
Sometimes, I think it�s good that I have a job.
It�s 81 degrees in downtown Boston right now. The weather report this morning predicted that it will reach 88 before the day is through. I�m sitting at my desk with the space heater on. Not because I�m sick today, but because the AC in our building is on full blast. Not a good sign for the rest of the summer. Tank tops outside, wool sweaters in. Why can�t we find a balance?
I transfer the plates on the cars tonight. After work, I�ll take my last ride in the Supermetro to my mom�s. I�ve never gotten rid of a car that still ran before. This is a new experience.
Adios, Supermetro. I�m going to have a moment of silence in your honor.
Thank you.
It�s silly, isn�t it, that I�m this sad about getting rid of the car, especially when I�m getting the much better end of the deal. I get the Nanamobile�six years old and less than 20,000 miles. AC, even.
Damn Artboy.
Anyway�
Moving right along�
�Cause no one really cares, Jennifer, about your car woes. This is like the 15th time you�ve written that same thing in your diary pages, and it stopped being interesting a long time ago. Jeez! Get a grip, would�ja? So you�re getting rid of the car! So it�s the last tangible piece of the Artboy in your life! So letting go means moving on! BIG DEAL! So DO IT already! Stop kvetching about it!
As long as you�re driving around in the Artboy�s car, you�re keeping the Artboy in your life. And he�s really not any more. So switch the plates, bring home the Nanamobile and chill out!
End of story!
(I hate it when I yell at myself like that!)
(Now y�all think I�m crazy, don�t you?)
(Well, I am, a little.)
(But that�s what keeps life interesting.)
So how sad is it, by the way, that I told my mom I couldn�t stay for dinner because I wanted to get home in time to watch Felicity? Some days, I am ashamed of myself.
And Carla, if you�re reading, the reason I called you yesterday was to see if you wanted to go to Springfield on June 9th on that bus trip to the rubber stamp convention (it�s listed in the Memory Lane flyer for this month). Kathy, if you�re reading this, I wish you were close enough to come, too!
(Hee! Spell check doesn�t like the word �kvetching.� Obviously, spell check doesn�t speak Yiddish! Or did I just spell it wrong? Anyone?)
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