This week continues its trend of ickiness.

First, not to go all TMI or anything, painkillers tend to upset my stomach. Apparently the massive (for me) dosage I took on Tuesday afternoon, after throwing myself down the stairs, was--a massive mistake.

I am--okay--today. I ate nothing but a handful of soda crackers/saltines for the first 24 hours, then lashed out into a mad gorge on half a dozen triscuits yesterday afternoon. And then dinner (lightly) last night. So far, so good.

Lessons learned:

A. I am buying aspirin to use for these little (mis)adventures in the future.
B. I am never having another little misadventure

This morning was the first conference call/meeting with the Argonuts Afield Overall Internet Group since Gidget left. (There's a core group of about half a dozen Argonuts Afield who make up the committee.

In my innocence, I thought the OIG, whose mission is to evaluate proposed online changes and improvements from an "in the field" point of view, used this time to, you know, listen to us say what we're doing or thinking of doing and give us feedback on how they thought said changes might affect the locations around the country.

Not.

Apparently they think that membership in this ostensibly-for-the-good-of-everyone committee is really best-utilized for whining about their own personal business woes.

One lunatic, if you can believe it, was pissy because Gidget was the only person who would let him call her at 9:00 on Saturday night to chat about his campaign. And now she's gone.

Not, you understand, that there's anything wrong with his campaign, because there isn't and it's doing very well, but if he feel like chatting about it (or suggesting ridiculous and unlikely changes), he thinks the $95 a month fee he pays entitles him to the attention of someone from the home office 24/7.

By the end of the meeting, my own personal ChaosManager, Vela, had Had Enough. She called her boss, Jason, and is preparing to tell him that she's been doing most of Gidget's job for a week now (in addition to her, Vela's, own job and, let us not forget, the job of Penelope, who left last spring) and she's done doing it. Life is just too short to waste her energy on that group of misogynistic jerks.

On the good news side of the equation, it turns out that I didn't sprain my ankle. I did some damage, yes, but it seems to be all soft-tissue stuff. Swelling and a giant bruise. I can walk without pain and wriggle all the bits that are supposed to wriggle.

I might buy me a pair of boots and walk right out of here.

*sigh*

Gidget called this morning. She has a meeting on Tuesday with a potential free-lance client who has 300 locations. If it comes through, she wants me to leave here and come help her service that $28k/month account. So, yes, I'm considering a change, less than a year after I was grateful to get this job.

Gidget and I and Vela all know that Vela is about a sixteenth of an inch from the end of her rope and getting ready to bail on this place. And I am not going to be the last one standing, when this department goes from five people to one.

Or even when the whole company goes under--which looks more possible every day.