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2001-11-28 / 6:42 p.m. ~Angry Day~ Today has been angry day. Lose my temper, want to scream, no, screaming's not good enough, haul off and put my fist through something day. And I don't really know why. Why my tolerance for assholes is so low today. But it is. This morning my stomach felt like crap, I mean I felt lousy, and it was no doubt due to the Super Star Combo I ate last night. No doubt. But I dragged myself into work, and first thing, when I walk into my department, I smell rotten eggs. Okay, not rotten, but hardboiled, overcooked, overboiled eggs, that nasty fartlike, sulphur smell, first thing. And L. is so fucking enthusiastic it's like she's speeding. Drugs must be involved, surely. "GOOD MORNING!!!!", she says. "I brought D. an early birthday present and it's on her desk, and it's eggs and potatoes and brown rice and turkey necks�" and I've meanwhile tuned her out because I feel like I would like to throw up. No, I don't care for any, thank you so much. And she's knocking on my cubicle wall, standing way behind me so I have to turn around to see her, and I'm saying, "Yes??? What??? What is it????", and I have to turn around, she won't come into my field of vision. Oh, she wants to show me this Avon product and that Avon product, and the one who hates cats, hates animals, hates hearing about cats, is telling me that Avon Skin So Soft is good for my cats' coats. Wha�???? Look, I just want to come in, log on, do my job, okay? Why must it be like this? Then�it's the Secret Santa fiasco. What color paper should we use? What do we write? What do we put the names in? Who's participating? Blah, blah, blah. And we figure it out, scratch paper, we have LOTS of scratch paper, yes, I'll get everyone some, write down your name, five suggestions for what to get for you, under $10, we draw, V. gets herself, put them back. L. says, "I DON"T WANT TO PUT MINE BACK! I LIKE MINE! I WANT MINE!" and suddenly it's this big fucking deal, and it's because she already has something for her person, so I say, So? Give that person the gift you got. Can't you give to more than one person? What's the big deal? Jesusfuckingchrist!!!! So, we put the names back, re-draw, it's all good, sure, we can do this. Other people do, right? Oh, then B. wants to join. She doesn't have a group to do this with, this Secret Santa bullshit. Can she join us? Personally, I don't care for this woman, and I don't want her to join, she is not in our department, she has her own department, and I don't want to fucking draw names again! Then D. suggests we all buy presents, pick numbers, pick presents according to numbers, if you don't like the present you pick you can trade. I said, "How awful! I don't want my gift to be judged�.that's crazy!", and everyone else says, "I think it's a good idea", and D. in her usual insecure manner, skulks away, cowers even. Jesus. Yeah. Him. It's his fucking birthday. And I understand he was actually born sometime in April, right? The whole thing left a really bad taste in my mouth. Really bad. I mean it. I just want to work here, WORK, if I have to work, let me just work! And we question why it's so difficult for us, always, us, difficult, and I say, "TOO MUCH ESTROGEN!". Then, at lunch, I'm going for groceries, there is no way I am putting food in my stomach, and that's not wise, I know, but I'm not going into details when it's gross and it involves me. No, it's not that, I just don't want to eat. No details. I just get a few things, but they're bulky so I've got both my canvas shopping bags, right? Wrong. The woman bagging has no clue how to bag, she puts two or three random items in the bottom of one bag and switches to the other, puts in another two or three and is totally puzzled as to how to proceed. The cashier steps in and starts putting the remainder in plastic bags. I snatch the bag from her, say, "I don't want plastic!", and I'm sorry if I was harsh, I'm sorry if her English is not that good, if she doesn't understand environmentalism. She is from the land of Chernobyl. Why is everyone at this Publix from Eastern Europe? No kidding. They don't bag groceries there. Do they? I start putting things, unbagged, milk, orange juice, toilet paper, in my cart, and practically run from the store. Two huge canvas bags, they hold so much. She couldn't grasp it. Why would I bring in canvas bags if I wanted plastic? Is this too much for you? It's not fucking brain surgery! Okay?! Put the things in the bag, the biggest, heaviest first, okay, can you hear me, do you read my lips, what the fuck? I was so mad, I was muttering all the way out, got to the car, threw the remaining items in the bags, no problem, it wasn't a puzzle, no brain surgery, nothing hard about it, slammed my car door so hard I thought it would break, drove home, walked in the door, and told the cats first thing, "I'm in a really bad mood, I'm warning you now", and continued to mutter about brain surgery and bags, and too damned much plastic in this world� Yeah, it's been like that. I'm raging. Why? This is not PMS. This is me, frustrated with the idiocy of human associations. With trying to communicate, with ignorance, with stupidity, with difficulty, imposed or otherwise. I'm amazed I made it back to work in one piece. But it's later now, it's 4:19 p.m. as I look up at the clock. I'm calmer now. I no longer desire to hurl objects. My tolerance is still very low, I abhor these phone calls I must handle, answer, the people I have to talk to. And all I want to do is go home and eat, because I am, now, in fact, hungry. Through the magic of word processing, floppy disks, and time travel�I am now home, and I just ate my first food of the day, sushi rolls with cream cheese. That sounds weird, right? But the cream cheese was mixed in with the "imitation crab", etc. And it was a really nice balance, especially with the wasabi and ginger, which I always add. So, feeling better. I hear the news on in the next room, stories of the "war on terror", and I'm reminded that yesterday on the news I saw photos from the "uprising" of the Taliban POWs - did anyone else notice the dead men lying on the ground with their pants off? See. I really think it's a ritual mutilation thing, the castration or penis removal. Yuck. I am so glad I am not a man in Afghanistan. Nor a woman. Nor a child. Nor an animal, nor plant. How horrible it all is. But the thing with the pants down around the ankles, those images, that particular horror, really gets to me. Having seen that. The camera panned, the bodies looked dusty already, as the drought makes everything look, I had to look twice to see it, the naked legs on an otherwise very much clothed body� Okay, that's that. For now. I was SO tempted to come home and put my old design back up, but Alison has shared her expertise with me, so I'll try one last thing to make the "older" page look better, and if I'm still not satisfied, I'll give up, for now. I did look at some other diaries on my break today at work, just to see how they look in IE, and I must say, overall, I totally prefer Netscape. It's superior, really. Well, the version I use is superior to the version of IE at work, for whatever that's worth. I did start off with AOL, years ago, and IE, but I graduated, and I'm happy for it. It was funny to see how some pages designed in IE still looked not quite right, and those designed in Netscape looked way off. Made me sorry I looked. And�made me think that if I'd never looked at mine in IE I'd be perfectly satisfied, still. Moving on, I have more eating to do, things to do. So, I'm through for now. Cost of the War in Iraq
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