I don't intend to do any of those things. I might, but I don't actually intend to.

I mean, okay, the story stinks. But I only started writing it 8 days ago and I have over ten thousand words, so at least it's moving. It may not be going any place interesting, but Iit's going, and I can live with that.

I'm doing pretty well keeping my resolution not to write on company time. Like today...a single page hardly counts as "writing" after all. Buehler's leaving early today (wedding anniversary) and while I have every intention of doing productive work after he exits,I haven't done much that's productive up until now, so I'm not holding out a lot of hope. (That proves I can find more ways to waste work time than writing smut.)

I'm sort of bored with the whole, "working for a living" thing today anyhow. Not to the point where there's actually any pain involved in sitting here, but noticeably bored. Extension 17 is being pretty good about clocking in with me when he arrives during the day but not so good about telling me when he leaves. BossyBoots seems to have settled down a bit. At least, he hasn't annoyed me in the last 24 hours. (Well, he wasn't here yesterday, but I'll take what I can get.)

I'm back on the diet. I put five pounds back on this summer and I want to take them off (and, with luck, a few more) before they settle in for the duration.

I always think "new fat" is easier to get rid of than "old fat" don't you? I mean, before all the fat "bonds" and starts throwing bridge parties and exchanging addresses and planning annual reunions.

Speaking of reunions, I'm currently being spammed by the reunion committee for my high school. They seem desperate to get everyone back for the big 3-0. (I can't believe I'm old enough to have graduated HS 30 years ago and at this moment, I feel compelled to mention that I was SIXTEEN when I started my senior year of high school, okay? I'm YOUNG.) Anyhow. They're mailing stuff to me, e-mailing me, calling me, and otherwise getting on my nerves.

I always pretend I'm not home when I answer the phone and it's them (my standard phone technique, developed during the years when I had creditors to avoid) but next time I'm confessing that I'm me and asking them to remove my name from their mailing/calling list.

I'm not giving them a reason, either. If they ask (and I know they will), my response will be, "because I ask you to" and then I'm hanging up on them.

You know what I hate? I hate it when people act like you need some kind of verifiable, acceptable reason not to want to hear from them. Especially when said people are, in fact, complete and total strangers.

I had one close friend in high school and the memory of her makes me queasy today. The suggestion that I should spend money to get on a plane and waste an entire weekend to see her face is laughable. The boy I liked best in high school graduated the year before me, so he won't be there. Anyhow, we met back up in the 80s and I did him then, so that's already checked off my list.

The excited flyers the committee keeps sending me are full of glowing plans to attend some game, football one presumes, of the type I never attended when I was in high school* and might be supposed to, you know, give a shit about such things. (And, for the record, that seems to be all they have planned. Not one, but two functions around this game. Nothing else. Granted, I understand that my hometown isn't New York or LA, but surely there's something else to do there?)

I'm a bit mystified by it all. I mean...do people really care, 30 years later, about attending some high school ball game played by sixteen year-old kids they don't know?

Actually, I rather suspect that most of my graduating class never got far from my Kansas hometown. They're probably looking forward to the game because their kids are playing.

*Okay, that's kind of a lie because I was in the Pep Club and went to some games. I don't remember actually paying attention to the field because I was always busy scoping out the stands for cute boys, but it has to be admitted that I was, in fact, there.

I was astonishingly hormonal in high school and I never did anything but scope out boys. I was also debilitatingly shy, so I never did anything but look at them. A direct look from some boy's eyes could keep me awash on a floodtide of hormones for hours. The idea of actually making contact, like speaking to a boy, rarely occurred to me. (I was 16, okay? Back then, 16 in Kansas was young, not like 16 today.)

Thus do the fates conspire to save us from ourselves, I guess. The thought that I could have married one of those goobers and wound up spending my life in that town can give me nightmares even today.

Anyhow, in case you're in any doubt, I don't plan to attend the reunions.

There. And I didn't whine about the story at all. I'm so proud.