So much has happened. Absolutely nothing has happened.
Tuesday was my last day at work. I'm working from home from now on, because Seriously.
It was hard to leave...I mean, I'm going back, and I'm pretty sure everybody believes me when I say I'm going back, but to leave an office knowing that it will be over three months until I return? And leaving my work in the hands of other people? Other people who seem SO CALM AND COLLECTED AND COMPETANT?
I wanted the editors who will be filling in for me to panic, just a bit. To ask me millions of questions and root through my filing cabinets and basically act the way I feel. Maybe some tears. But no, they just kept trying to reassure me that everything was under control and that they could handle it all just fine.
I like to think that they are lying, just so I can feel needed.
Oh, and in the last five minutes of the workday, I had some kind of mini-nostalgia meltdown and started grabbing picture frames and pens (but those are my FAVORITES!) and God-knows-what-else from my office to take home with me because I might miss them.
Jason came home to find me surrounded by office supplies and double prints of photos we already have around the house while freaking out because I forgot to find someone to babysit my plants.
Yesterday's OB appointment revealed that my streak of No Fucking Progress Whatsoever is continuing in smashing form. Baby isn't budging and neither is my cervix. Doctor is hopeful that I'll still go into labor on my own this week, but if not? Another appointment next Wednesday, complete with a nonstress test and perhaps me throwing myself at his feet and begging him to get this baby out through whatever means possible, because LORDY, am I ever done.
I spent most of yesterday being inconsolably cranky. And swollen, because it is still practically 90 degrees here every damn day.
However, I was slightly cheered up by the receipt of a Very Special Issue of The Washingtonian magazine. The Photo is acceptable, and the article is very short and does not give me the opportunity to sound like a raving stupid moron.
Amy Storch on blogging: "Um, it's cool! And stuff! Hee!"
Seriously. I was at the interview. The reporter soooo could have gone in that direction.
The magazine will be hitting DC-area newstands very soon. Pick up a copy or five of your very own and turn to page 41 for a full-length photo of me wearing very blah shoes and sporting chipped toenail polish. (It was supposed to be three-quarters length! I thought I didn't have to worry about my feet!)
But hell, I look way better than Britney, and that's all that matters in life.
(I'll scan the actual thing in a few weeks. In the meantime, go spend $3.95 or whatever on your very own copy, which also contains a huge section called "Creating a Terrific Kitchen." Coincidence? I THINK NOT.)