The storm clouds are gathering--literally, like, in the sky--and I'm looking forward to skipping out of here and going home. Well, the place I call home these days, which is the place I'm house-sitting a giant black creature I call Bitey Kat. (Because she bites!) (Me!)

It is proving slightly difficult to escape, because my boss is hovering around, receiving visitors who come with one of two purposes: A) to beg a moment of his time; or B) to congratulate him on his big new promotion. He's gotten a little grand these last few days, and has been indulging in quite a lot of what I call "brag-plaining," where you pretend to complain about something while actually highlighting its greatness. "I'm having a problem with the people in my new department," he started in saying yesterday, whispering as though he were confiding in me, trusted, left-behind me. Naturally, I took the bait, only to learn that his "problem" was that just everyone in his new department is so excited that he'll be arriving that they all need time to meet with him right away. As it was not possible to feign nonchalance at his complete BS, I began an exaggerated and high-volume imitation of him in the form of yelling, "Oh, NOOOO! I don't know what to DOOOOOO, I'm so POPULAR!" etc., etc., with creative hand gestures and facial expressions out of an El Greco crucifixion. I plan to ignore him until his brag-plaining passes. And at any rate, he's out of here in a week.

He called me into his office on Monday, and as I naturally assumed I was being canned, it came as quite a surprise when he announced his own imminent departure. "I thought you were going to can me," I said, sounding more disappointed than I had intended. He shook his head dismissively and waved a hand to fan away my ridiculousness, bolstering my certainty that I can continue to behave as I wish.

He's going to be the head of another department here, and I cannot go with him because there is already a "me" there, in the form of a woman named Arlene. Arlene's presence is well-documented, but still, the well-wishers invariably stop at my desk on their way out, to whisper, "So... what's going to happen to you?" in varying degrees of gossipy conspiratorial...ity. It's as if they believe that I will be having Arlene "taken care of" so that I can swipe her job and stay with my boss. Some of them want the dish on the major intrigue they're certain is boiling, which irritates me. It is very rude to approach someone and inquire about the future of her employment. "Where are YOU going to go?" they ask, and because they are angling for the scoop, I withhold it, or make up lies, depending on my level of distaste for the inquirer.

In truth, there is no "scoop." I am staying where I am. I am getting a new boss, whom I already know, and who is very competent and nice. It couldn't be more boring. (Yay! Thank God I chose to write about it here!)

While my boss is still here, I may or may not have access to his calendar, which may or may not allow me to schedule meetings very far in advance, say two years or so. By which time he will have forgotten all about me. And so if a meeting, say, did show up on his calendar, requiring that he attend, at the CEO's request, a charity event for blind dachsunds at 7:00 AM on a Saturday sometime in August of 2009, he might just have to show up for it. The Friends of Sightless Buddies Festival, come to think of it, might actually be a costume affair. I haven't really heard, yet.

I really hope it doesn't conflict with the Manta Ray Tea Dance I know is scheduled around that time. He's supposed to prepare a speech for that one.

Star of the day. . .Me because I am irritated with everyone else. (Not you, though.)