8:45 a.m. You're annoying, okay, Frogmorton? If you can't help me with my computer problems, then you can't. I'm okay with that. But you knew you couldn't help. You said so, up front. Why, then, did you waste 40 minutes of my time proving it to me before you referred the problem to Moe?

Also? Stop talking to me every time you see me. I put that flower vase next to my computer so that everyone walking in the front door of our office didn't catch my eye and feel compelled to chat with me. If I want to talk with you, I'll come and find you. Until then, leave me alone.

Granted, I'm not that busy at the moment, but I'm still not a receptionist.

Or a morning person.

10:58 a.m. Keerist, it's happening every time I open my mouth these days. I'm turning into my mother. And not in a good, floor-so-clean-you-can-eat-off-of-it way, either. Every time I hear myself talking and wonder if it's me or my mother, I want to run out and get a personality transplant. (Don't get me wrong. I love my mother. I just don't want to be her.)

1:38 p.m. I just got off the phone from a 1-1/2 hour training call. I'm okay with the fact that it took 48 minutes to actually get her connected to the training program. I'm okay, really I am, with the fact that this woman forgot everything I said last week. I'm okay with the fact that she got confused because she didn't click where I told her to click and kept having to go backwards. I'm okay with the fact that she was so busy clicking on things she wasn't listening to anything I said.

Totally. Okay.

1:46 p.m. And I'm equally okay with hearing Buehler tell someone on the phone that he doesn't have anyone on staff who can write, so he's having to write the web pages himself.

Snarl.

It's a sad day when the only person not getting on my nerves is Bossyboots. (That could change if he doesn't get that DC office up and running before I'm scheduled to train them at 8:30 tomorrow morning.

1:55 p.m. Today's lunch is grilled chicken, as it usually is when I'm On The Diet. I overcooked the chicken (I usually do) so it's tough as an old boot.

I have to eat it, though. Owing to some kind of inexplicable brain failure, it's the only thing I brought with me for lunch today. At home I have salad, three kinds of fruit, rice, and potatoes. I brought none of these things. So, I'm eating tough chicken and drinking a bottle of orange juice I found in the refrigerator. If my palate needs additional thrills later, I have ranch-flavored soy crisps.

In today's other excitement, the Hell's Own Software client went mad and approved three new offices for installation today. One of them (ready to install) went straight to Bossyboots but the other two have to go through my procedures first. It was very exciting. I had to make two phone calls before noon today!

I am so underemployed.

Sorry I'm all Dramaqueen Girl at the moment. They're going to upgrade my work PC to XP while I'm out of the office tomorrow. I'm scoping around, making sure I don't have any personal files (or irreplaceable files) on it before I go. I'll have to delete all of the personal bookmarks I keep on this computer.

I'm already in mourning for readbookonline.net and classic-literature.co.uk. I'll probably never again read the reviews of the new Don Quixote translation and fight the temptation to order the book. If I don't have ALDaily bookmarked, how will I be led to articles like this one? (I mean, how can you not love a site that has a Nota Bene section?)

How else can I remember I'm in the middle of Chapter 52 of Roughing It without my bookmark?

Will I ever sit down and read electronic versions of Dickens' works if I don't have the bookmark in front of me?

I keep very few personal bookmarks at work, but they're each valuable to me. (Okay, yes, I backed up my bookmarks. I miss them anyhow.)

2:32 p.m. Sigh. I went down and got today's mail. Looks like that's the end of today's Work-Related Excitement.

For the record, the combination of orange juice and chicken is not nummy-delicious.

3:24 p.m. I stopped to read part of Lady Susan, just for sentimentality.

And to kill time, of course. Beginning Thursday (when Buehler will be out of town for 7 work-days) I may be forced to start writing at work again. Either that, or face the possibility of going completely stir-crazy, sitting here with nothing to do.