Ugh. More training. Fortunately, she�s in with Sophie for the morning, which means I�ve been left to my own devices for a short time. I still hate this, though, because there�s still precious little flexibility to my schedule. I�m not allowed to start filing all the paperwork that�s been building up for the week, for example, until they�re done, because I�m supposed to show NNNG how it works. It�s great that I�ll have help, but putting off the start time is only going to make it worse, really. I would take advantage of that time by catching up on all my backlogged stuff, but I�ve just been given a tremendous and asinine assignment to do some graphic formatting for Sally, and�well, I finally get to fuck around online for a while, and damned if I won�t.
Anyway, I�m anxious for this new girl to get into the groove and start figuring out where her niche is, as far as day-to-day operations are concerned. It�s no mere coincidence that work began the slow and steady conquest of my life the very day Sam departed and Sophie appointed me her de facto bionic right arm. It�s nice to be trusted with such responsibility, and nicer still to know that through it all, I�ve retained her confidence and garnered praise as well -- and for a guy known to have once gotten lost in his hometown during a lunchtime trip to the bank, this is quite a personal revelation. However, internal victories aside, my stress levels are surveying the world from heretofore uncharted altitudes, and I�m about one more "favor" away from an axe-murder spree, so it�s nice to feel that some of my responsibilities will be alleviated.
But only �some�. As before, Sophie�s already warned me that the new girl won�t be taking over pretty much anything I do. At least, though, there�ll be somebody else to take on some of the new things, right? Right? Because otherwise, remember the axe? And the wallpaper? You guys don�t want that to happen, do you? I swear I�m going clowns-doing-cartwheels crazy over here with all the shit on my plate and all the no time to take care of it. Man alive, I need a vacation.
Good thing I�m going on one. Oh yes! I hadn�t mentioned it up until now, but this little bird is going to fly the coop in a week, kiddies! One week. One more flaming, bloody week, and then sweet, sweet release. One week from this very moment, I will be on a plane�well, actually, that�s not totally true. At this time one week hence, I�ll probably be sitting in a terminal at JFK in New York, waiting for my connecting flight, but the feeling is the same. But after the layover, I will be crossing the blue Atlantic and making my way toward the unspoiled beauty of the Swiss Alps, where I will meet up with The Jones for wine, swimmin�, and song.
Sidebar: the phrase �unspoiled beauty� seems rather redundant to me. Can there really be such a thing as �spoiled beauty�? Wouldn�t that be the same thing as �ugly�?
Anyway, they (Arts-Friendly) are going to make me earn it, though, I can tell. I�m going to crawl over broken glass to get to that finish line, my friends, but I�ll get there. If I have to drag my severed arm along behind me, clenching a bullet between my teeth, I�ll get there. And then I�ll turn around and use my good arm to flip everybody off. Screw you bitches, I�m going to Europe!
I�m a little worried, though, because this vacation has been the light at the end of the tunnel for so long that I�m afraid I�ll come back to�well, a dark tunnel. Not terribly forgiving, that dark tunnel. But I won�t think of that, now. Right now I�m thinking about cheese, chocolate, and gorgeous Swiss men.
If I decide never to come back, I�ll let you guys know.
Someone Got Here By Searching For: all about pisceans I�m Watching: CSI, and wondering how they could possibly make another spin-off of a non-character driven show. I�m Reading: My Swiss guidebook. Over and over and over�