2004-09-29 - 12:31 a.m.
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8:58 am: Showed up at work on time for the first time ever.

9:04 am: In an uncharacteristically frank and somewhat passive-aggressive way, was honest with a coworker about something that had been bugging the shit out of me.

9:05 am: Started running around like the proverbial chicken because there were six thousand things to do, all of them needing to be done immediately.
Fiddle around with various filing supplies for about twenty minutes in an effort to make my desk and list of tasks seem less crazed. It doesn't help. Try to take care of one little task until I realize that several non-little tasks remain to be completed until I can do the easy task--mailing out a packet of papers.

10:40 am: After about six trips down the hall to see if she was off the phone, finally get in to speak with an attorney. I am to draft a letter to an employer. Our client, the employee, has her last day by the end of the week, so the letter is needed yesterday.

1:00 pm: Horrible phone call with a certain Czarina of Important Papers that Jenny Needs to Access PDQ. Lunch indefinitely postponed while follow-up action plotted.

1:30 pm: After discussion with wise supervisor who has dealt with said Czarina many times, began drafting nasty letter and feeling calmer and like I might actually get something done today.

1:32 pm: Intake call comes in, and I'm up anyway, and besides, everyone else is in the breakroom munching down.

1:58 pm: Get off phone after telling the guy how sorry I am about the horrible experience he is having, and start punching up a note to the attorney who's been working with the caller.

2:28 pm: Present damned good summary of phone call to attorney. Remark that I have got to go eat something or risk fainting, "and that would be bad." Get the hell out of dodge of a few minutes. Eat mediocre slices at Half Time, home of mysterious Brand X sodas, such as "Pep Up". Take antacid to head off pain later.

3-4 pm: Work on letter to angry Czarina and realize that I don't know a goddamn thing about the thing I'm supposed to be getting documents for, I don't know what I'm supposed to tell this lady in this letter, and I sure as fuck don't know how I'm going to get the client's signature on something when he lives a hour and a half away and in prison. Freak out because I feel like a total fraud, and because the file I have doesn't have half of what I need in order to even draft the letter, even though most of it is probably somewhere right here in the office. Start reading a handy-dandy how-to manual and feel even more lost, confused, and fraudulent.

4 pm: Print out extremely lame draft of letter. Run out the door to catch T to campus for therapy. Shake my head wondering how the hell to juggle three chainsaws at once.

woogie - woo