OH MY GOD Y'ALL.
You know how I like to whine about how busy I am at work? And that I have SO MUCH to do and wah wah wah and feel sorry for me because I'm going die?
And you know how usually I'm full of shit? Well, I'm not this time. I mean it. I am going to die. The cause of death will be stress and many tiny, tiny paper cuts. And possibly frostbite from the whole no-heat-in-the-condo bullshit, which made me very late for work this morning (don't ask), which seriously cut into my valuable freak-out time.
I have so much to do before February 1st that I've hit that deer-in-the-headlights point of panic where all I can do is stare stupidly at my to-do list and move stacks of paper around my desk, as if I'm magically going to find 17 spare special reports and an assistant just lying around under the clutter.
(Also, confidential to a certain person who is not helping things: All this work is NOT MY FAULT. I am sorry that MY HUGUNDOUS WORK LOAD may mean you have to do work as well, but that is YOUR JOB and don't act so surprised when I come to you with your part of this special report brouhaha and act like you had NO IDEA it was coming because YOU DID, you BIG DRAMA QUEEN, and besides, you will never OUT-DRAMA QUEEN ME because I have a WEBSITE on which to throw my tantrums so meeeeeeeeeeehhhhhhhhhfft.)
(Also, just wait until you see what I'll be bringing you next week.)
(Also also, YOU HAVE AN ASSISTANT. SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP.)
Sorry about that. Do you think I'll get fired for that? In case the person reads it? Maybe? Or does it need more cursing and personal insults? Because really, getting fired may very well be my only way out.
Well, there is ONE OTHER WAY, but it ain't pretty, because it means postponing the Wednesday Advice Smackdown until at least tomorrow. Which pains me greatly to do, because it's going to be a good one, or it could be if I could just calm the fuck down for a good 30 minutes or so.
How's everybody's July look? Could I get back to you then? Peachy.