Sep 16, 2004

I'm sick. It has hit me like a Mack truck and I feel like I'm spread across a busy highway, dirt and pollution and pieces of glass being rapidly pressed into my face as cars and busses and 16-wheelers wizz over me. I had this illness once before, it came and went over a weekend, so I know I'll feel better soon. I stayed in bed for 12 hours last night and my muscles are royally pissed off from the lack of movement and the twisted convoluted way I like to put my arms under my head. And then there's the screaming pain originating from my shoulder which I can only assume I pulled while carrying my fat-ass cat in her carrier yesterday. She's less than 12 pounds and still I complain. God I'm a lightweight pussy. And my stomach does not like the medicine I've been pumping into it, and all I can think about is Thai food, which I know my stomach would be even unhappier about right now. I want to go home and sleep.

End bitch fest.

On the other hand, work has gotten more difficult. It's not that I'm super busy anymore, it's just that nobody ever sat down with me and explained the processes I am responsible for, and deadlines are coming up and I have no clue what I need to do. People are asking me questions about things I am slowly learning about, but I don't have their answers, and if I make them up I just might ruin their entire lives. Seriously. I'm playing with people's futures and I don't know what I'm doing. I just hope I'm not found out as a complete fraud before I can figure this shit out. I'm nervous and scared and I have nobody to ask if I'm doing ok. But I really really love my job.

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