I think it's been a Naomi night. First Dagger got to team up with Naomi and set the spammer dead to rights. Professional phrasing and venom: Dagger. Research and indignation: Naomi.

Then Naomi got to play with the words with the person with the tag problem. Such fun! She's really getting better with her words! (Read: she's gaining advanced access to the group language library.) She still doesn't have a good time with words when it's just her and things are going all weird and funky and there are too many things to be done, and talking seems like a bad idea, but at least those are now the exception rather than the norm.

In other news of the funky and bizarre, there is scent coming in the window that hits my "This is what Darkside and his clothes smell like" alert. By the Sekrit Language of Scent Omens, that means that he's thinking about me. (Why do I have the Pink-Haired Old Lady's voice narrating my words in my head? Oh, I know. Because I'm tired. [My story's not the norm.])

My schedule got fried up, scrambled, and served over toast. I'm half done with my work week this week at this point. My usual work week is Thursday through Sunday. (Four days. Usually over 40 hours at this time of the year.) This week I'm working Tuesday, Wednesday, Saturday, and Sunday.

Work is insanely busy. ( Read more... ) I fear becoming too sarcastic for my fellow supervisors to stand.

Other than that, I'm plugging away on the new book, which is now fueled by my work-related burnout issues, rather than hampered. I'm not sure what my options for the upcoming season of insane holidays will be. I have limited transportation, so Thanksgiving may be rather more quiet than it was last year. (Besides, Lady Malfoy hasn't invited me, and I'm not sure if she'll extend an invitation this year, given that they may want a very quiet family Thanksgiving, and I'm still dubious as to my Family status.)

"Behind on sleep" seems to be a chronic status and part of the job description, rather than an emergency state. This does not make me happy, but not many things have been making me brilliantly happy of late, not that stick. Last night I was very punchily giggling over, in turn, the stuff I was writing, and the Arcata Eye police blotter. The two bear a certain stylistic similarity to each other.

We've now got two walkers on the floor bearing the name David R. We have to distinguish them by hairstyle -- ponytail or flattop? Flattop David seems to have geeky leanings in his spare time, and has near-infinite patience with what I politely call "operator error" on the part of some of our less technically savvy employees. I approve. I have no plans to collect either of these Davids, though both of them are distinctly cute.

Darkside has not been about much lately. I'm hoping he's in this weekend. It's difficult for me to articulate exactly how much he means to me. It's difficult for me to describe how much stress I shed in one minute in his company. It's difficult for me to find time with him. If all else fails, I'm going to be using my e-mail.

I seem to be evolving into the sort of character who can work in an office. This is a crash course in office politics (and, in my case, how to avoid them). ( Read more... )


[edit: Oh, yeah. And I'm sick. Like, snot-nosed ill.]