2004-05-25

This is my LAST week of work, after three and a half years in this place. Ordinarily I�d be winning a gold medal in the Olympic Slack-athlon, but there�s no rest for the wicked. Or the freaky, evidently: they�re out in droves. Just now, one of my coworkers sprung out of her cubicle as I passed, like a pouncing jaguar, and grabbed me around the waist. �You need to get some MEAT on your bones!� she shrieked predatorily, like a fairy-tale witch sizing up her intended entr�e, as I pinwheeled my arms and squirmed, trying to get out of her grip without punching her in the face. What�s that all about? Lose a few pounds, and all of a sudden everyone�s your Italian mom. She wouldn�t leave me alone until I assured her that I�d adhere to tradition in England and subsist on a diet of chips and beer. It is touching to know that people are concerned about my health.

Between bouts of worky-worky, I�m wrapping up and sending off a few personal possessions to friends hither and yon: stuff I can�t take with me, but don�t want to part with entirely. It�s surprising that I�m managing to type now, because verily, I SUCK at wrapping of any kind (especially the kind without the �w�). I nearly had to put myself in the mail along with the packages, since I managed to snare both hands in a huge scary wad of bubble wrap and packing tape. It would have been cute, if I were a kitten; sadly, I am an adult human being and not at all kittenish. Except in my proclivity for napping. Is it naptime now? Robin votes yes!