Apr. 8th, 2002

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sigh And it started so well.

Or no, not really that well. Sort of moderately well, with the early sun that's too low and too weak to hit my back and warm me, and I hit the snooze button four times in a row before I gave up on further sleep. Then I was late and missed the late bus anyway and walking would have been faster.

But the morning was beautiful and bright, and since I caught the 7 and walked halfway, I decided to treat myself to a mocha on my way in. The shit, of course, didn't hit the fan until I got to my desk.

Late, of course, horrendously late, and I walk in, ready to pour my tale of bus-woe to my coworker, but she's not at her desk. The message light's on, though, and I pop the power on my computers, and dial up voice mail.

She's sick. The CT receptionist is having computer issues. The Surgery receptionist is standing there, telling me about the CT reception's problems, because she's been calling since 7 about them, and it's almost 8:30. When I finally get down there, it quickly becomes evident that her computer is well and truly fucked. With a chainsaw. The only thing I can hope to do is salvage her files and see if I can't get her up and running on something else.

Between her and the user file transfers I was supposed to be doing today, I've long since despaired of getting anything else done. I finally gave in about 2 and scrounged myself something resembling lunch-food-products.

I feel wrung out and flattened, and even the thought of trying to interact with anyone right now is wearing. I can maintain a level of 'Right. So how do I do this in Outlook?' with my boss, but I can't wait to just crawl home and hermit up in my room for the last of a sunny afternoon.

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Misha Day

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