Happy Administrative Professionals Day, y'all! Are you as happy about it as I am? Wheeeeeeeeeeeee! [hugs]

Last year's theory of diminishing APD returns has held true for another day, in that this year, my boss not only didn't bring me anything, but actually tried to claim credit for the flowers that one someone else gave me. Next year, should I still be here, he'll probably ask me to loan him $35 so he can take the other administrative staff to lunch.

Do I really care about it? No. Not as much as I care that I actually still have this job.

Yesterday's Journey-inspired nostalgia stew has boiled dry, leaving me lolling somewhere between ennui and malaise. Enlaise. (Except that sounds kind of hott, which is decidedly not what I was aiming for.)

The enlaise began this morning, when I was awakened by the Keelhauler, displaying rare psychic ability, calling me at 7:45. As I am supposed to be at work at 8:00, it was not a good way to start the day, but I was grateful that he called.

When I got to work (9:15, for those of you working on the Graph of Irresponsibility) I found a vase of purple iris on my desk, and had a momentary spark of someone-thinks-I'm-hottness. (I had not at that point realized that today is APD.) My spark fizzled, naturally, when I realized that no, no one thinks I'm hott, and that the flowers were left by a girl coworker out of either kindness or pity.

I'm looking at Ling, the little statue of a Communist worker girl given to me by another coworker, and thinking that she might be onto something, ideologically speaking.

My chest hurts. Not in a heart-attack way, but in an achey, though not Billy Ray Cyrus achey, way. I know why, but it's too stupid to go into.

Huh. It now occurs to me that I could have said that at the beginning of this entry, and saved you all the trouble.

(Heh heh... "you all.")

Star of the day. . .St Patrick