29 September 1999
Actually, I'm writing this on Tuesday night. Does that matter, much? Will you hate me when you read that this wasn't written on September 29th, but merely uploaded then? Well, chances are good that I'll add something in the morning before I upload.

I'm just tired of rushing through my entries in the morning. Already. I've got three more weeks of working for the testing department, and I'm already ready to strangle someone. (And if my prime candidate doesn't work out, then there's at least a couple of backups waiting in the wings.)

But there's a staff meeting tomorrow - that is, a staff meeting of the department I'm supposed to be part of. It was billed as the "long-anticipated" meeting, so I'm hoping that finally, finally they'll announce the promotions and I'll at least know who I'll end up reporting to. Maybe, if I'm lucky, I'll get some clue as to what my project will be when I finish up with the testing crew. Give me something to look forward to, I suppose.


But that isn't what I logged on to talk about.

I got online a bit ago, checked my e-mail, and then pulled up Netscape to read a journal entry I'd had to leave unfinished earlier. When I finished that entry, I checked another couple of journal sites, then found myself staring at the browser.

I was opening the bookmarks list like a refrigerator door, hoping desperately that this time there would be something different - some exciting URL that I'd forgotten about and which was just waiting for me to rediscover it.

Now, I'm not really a good surfer. I check a number of regular sites, but rarely do I feel impelled to follow links or scan obscure things. I encounter URLs during the course of the day and think, Oh, that sounds fascinating! I'll have to remember that URL! But when I fire up the browser, I always forget. I mean completely - I'm not left floundering to remember obscure addresses; I forget altogether that there was an address to check out.

I'm not sure why this is.

But at any rate, I was staring at the browser, like I didn't dare close it, but wasn't sure what else to do...


I'm not sure why I wanted to talk about that. Let's talk about something else. Matt just called me into the other room, where he was cuddling the cat, to have me sniff the cat and verify that he smelled like cleaner.

And the cat did, in fact, smell like cleaner. Furniture polish, or Windex, or something of the sort.

The maid service came today... I wonder if they dust the cat?


I want to brag, by the way. When I left the office today, I had every intention - every intention! - of checking in with Weight Watchers, then going home and being a vegetable for a while. I didn't want to go to the gym, even for the somewhat pathetic 20 minutes I usually go. It had been a rainy, cold (in the office if not outside), and irritating day, and I just wasn't up for exercise. It was all I could do not to skip Weight Watchers.

Halfway there (Weight Watchers and the gym are only about a mile apart, on the same road) I thought, I really ought to go to the gym. So I compromised with myself: I would go to the gym, and not bother to change clothes - just walk around the track a few times. Just get the blood moving a bit - work out a little of the frustration of the day.

But I wound up doing my regular twenty minutes on the bikes. I even upped the resistance a notch. And when I got to Weight Watchers, I'd lost almost two and a half pounds from last week!

I'm so proud of me!


Wednesday morning: Okay, so I'm actually going to post an anecdote today. Feel better now?

This morning, I woke up and realized it was my turn to feed the cat. So I sat up and started the stretches I do every morning to keep my feet from falling off the ends of my legs. Matt rolled over and gave me a hug, and I kissed him on the forehead. Sleepily, "I'm gonna go feed the cat, sweetie." He let go and turned over to go back to sleep.

I went out into the hallway and leaned on the halfwall that keeps people from falling down the stairs from the side to finish my stretches. Left calf... Right calf... Left again... All the time, the cat is rubbing around my ankles. C'mon, Mom, hurry it up, willya? I'm starving down here!

Finally, I trudge down the stairs toward the kitchen. As I get about halfway down the stairs, a thought manages to force its way past my usual morning cotton-brain. Hey. Didn't the clock by the bed say 12:15? Briefly, I consider this. Damn. My clock's gone screwy. Have to reset it. The cat comes back up two stairs to rub my ankles. C'mon, Mom, I'm starving!

As I walk through the living room, I glance at the VCR. (I'm a clock freak. If I pass a clock, I must look at it. I cannot stand to be in a room that does not have a clock in it, except maybe the bathroom. If I wasn't allergic to metals, I'd just wear a watch. But since I can't wear a watch, I'm a clock freak.) The VCR is glowing a bright greenish-blue: 12:16. The fog in my brain swirls and parts to let another thought through: Huhn. Maybe... Maybe it's really the middle of the night?

The cat, sensing my hesitation, is pausing by the door to the dining room and looking back at me. I know it's early in the morning, Mom, but try to stay with me on this: The kitchen is this way...

I glance up at the wall-clock, which runs on batteries and thus isn't affected by power outages. The little hand is just past the twelve, and the big hand is on the 3. Damn. I turn around and trudge back up the stairs, leaving a disappointed cat behind. Damn. Almost had her this time.