Monday, February 26, 2007


Considering I've spent the better part of the last three days feeling like I have an army of ants crawling through my throat, a swarm of baby bees building sandcastles on my eyeballs, and a drippy goo fountain leaking from my proboscis, now is not the time that I want to be yelled at. I can't even hide out in my office, because then people just yell at me over the computer. They yell because they want the work now! now! now! and FORGET that old, semi-reachable deadline, we're bumping it up a few days! They yell because our recent game of phone tag was insufficient proof of their perceived importance within my friend heirarchy. They yell because they misinterpreted an email about soup, of all things. Speaking of soup, can someone deliver me some matzoh ball? It might make me feel better.

If y'all want to yell at me some more, or possibly lob a rotten tomato my way, I'll be down at Duane Reade stocking up on Cold & Flu medicine and a huge bottle of Tylenol PM. 'Cause all this yelling has made my insomnia come back, and last night's fitful attempt at slumber didn't prepare me to deal with all this e-shouting.

Petulantly fed up,



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