It's been an odd sort of week. Mostly, it's been a week about disappointment and distressing change. I've been in a bad self-pity spiral that only gets worse as I feed it with more and more negativity. This week has been a meaty banquet for the spiral, but last night after melt-down #2, I decided perhaps I should try to give the spiral a mental gastric bypass and cut it off at the source. (Okay, this spiral analogy is not working and is getting oddly disturbing.) I just don't want to be all miserable and bitter. It's not working for me.

If I write out what, exactly, has stressing me out, you'll all roll your eyes at me for being such a whiny baby, but that's okay. I can take it.

1) The junkyard interview was cancelled. Why? Because they hired someone a few weeks ago. Right, I know. Apparently they made an offer to someone a few weeks ago, and just heard back. Is everyone in the whole wide world a flake? Wouldn't they wait to hear back before starting to interview again? (Also, this means I got passed over for an interview for this position two times, and only barely made the third-round choice. How flattering.) I'm an excellent driver.

For real. I wasn't even very interested in the job, but I would've liked the chance to at least pretend to be interested. Generally, the whole lack-of-real-employment thing has really been getting me down. When did I start judging my self-worth on my job? I didn't do that when I was a waitress, so why now? Of course, I don't have my underwear. I'm definitely not wearing my underwear.

2) The riding has not been going well lately and I have a race on Sunday. Holy crap. It should be a fun race and everything, but my ride last Sunday was fraught with frustration and it was Africa-hot, which didn�t help at all. It's was so unbelievably hot and humid that it was actually cooler to keep moving, because if you stop, you over-heat and your eyeballs get all foggy. I know! What the hell was I doing out in the woods on a bike when it's 95 degrees out? I'm clearly out of my mind. Boxer shorts. K-Mart!

I would also like to go back into time and slap the hex wrench out of my hand before I stupidly remove the cleats from my old shoes and put them on the new ones. I'll never, ever get them adjusted correctly again. I didn't realize what I was messing with, here. Each cleat requires 8900 minute adjustments in order to feel right.

My ride last night ended after five minutes, because the storm I thought was over, was, in fact, not. Grah. Did the weather not get the memo about my race? QANTAS. QANTAS never crashed.

Update: we went for a ride tonight, and, although it was beastly hot, I did not get frustrated or throw my bike. I did, however, look on in despair as my ride buddies sprinted up a hill I could barely finish, on the way home. Damn roadies.

3) I moved to a new cube on the other side of the building. It's dirty. The phone is growing nasty ear-wax-based diseases. My new computer occasionally shudders and makes a buzzy noise. Also, no window. No window. No window. We're gonna be here the entire morning with no maple syrup and no--no toothpicks.

This sort of change makes it hard for me to concentrate and ruins my careful structure. I'm basically a more functional version of Rain Man and I require schedule and structure. My poor husband is not a planner, but me, I need everything planned in advance so I can find maps and alternate routes and alternate alternate routes, and I'll need to buy small-sized toiletries that fit neatly into a little case. And groceries, when will I buy groceries? Friday at 6:30pm is when I do that so I'll have to re-schedule. Uh oh, fifteen minutes to Judge Wapner. See what I mean?

So cube change means new cube neighbors and having to find my way around this side of the maze-like building. This will take some getting used to. Also, I'm almost 100% positive that my right side cube neighbor hates me. Little punk. The woman across from me calls me "new girl". I swear to God, she does.

There's also an annoying, jovial manager-type (not my manager, thank God) who's a huge deadhead and refers to everyone as "duuuude" which is just not acceptable. This is, by the way, the same deadhead who ruined my lunch break a while back by blasting the Dead on his stereo when I was trying to read in my car. There are 246 toothpicks in the box. 246 total.

So, yeah, it's been a weird week. Also, my workload is still annoyingly high, so I haven't had as much time to update. I'm sure things will improve. They better. 'Course, driving your car on this interstate is very dangerous.

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Best. Link. Ever.

Baseball Star Probed For Sausage Attack." There's more about it here at The Smoking Gun.

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