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2002-11-04 - 12:53 p.m.

I was met this morning at work with such a gut wrenching feeling of not wanting to be here. At the office, not that Iím suicidal. Yet. Itís way too early in the week for that and I havenít sat through near enough meetings. I give it until Wednesday afternoon as the old VP of my department is visiting and is taking me out to lunch tomorrow. Heís Scottish and at times is incomprehensible. I also am leaving early tomorrow. Because I can. Well, the reason is that Iím voting, and must vote in my old district, as I never registered in San Jose. So, Iím taking time for that. And corporate policy dictates that white-collar exempt employees are allowed 2 hours. So 2 hours Iím taking. BooYah. I think my adverse reaction to work is the extra responsibility that they keep adding, without any additional support. And now Iím being pressured to move upstairs. To complete my transition from Sales lacky to general lacky, something Iíve been putting off since running out to save my friends from a trap in a floating mining colony. Part of me wants to just quit. This is a tired Rant, I understand. Even Iím tired of it, and I like to beat dead horses. Which is why the PETA people are on my case. Luckily there is much drama in the office, the VPís admin booked him on an AM flight but everyone thought it was a PM flight, and a trial link for an important government contract was knocked down in a storm. So there are distractions to my petty personal issues. I think Iíll just clean my cube and ignore everything until people actually come over and talk to me, instead of Email and the Phone. Itís a good plan. Itís days like today that I imagine how pleasant it would be, to have some sort of mild retardation. Just enough to where I could be childlike and the state would take care of me. Not have to be responsible or worry about things. How a happy meal would make my day. I could collect Pokeman cards and wear clothing from Target without guilt. Itís a pleasant thought. I imagine I could manufacture some workplace incident that would leave me in such a state, thus ensuring Workmenís Comp and AFLAC keep me in juice and cookies for the rest of my life. Itís the next best thing to the executive tier, and probably easier to get to. Iíll have to do some research on exactly how many volts the copy machine has, and what the resistance rate of my letter opener is. Because Iím thinking that bad boy is about to ďjamĒ.

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