Practice makes perfect. Plug away! I wrote a big thing today and now I hate it. I got hit with the melancholia stick late last night and can't shake the headache. A can of PBR propelled by the melancholia stick was what hit me, so actually: it was the teamwork did me in.

Who can work after a holiday? A BBQ? Who can work when they are struggling with the realization that this job blows? I was hoping that the completely obvious fact of my work being largely meaningless and repetitive would lead into a glorious realization--I love HR + Training! I cannot wait for the next conference call!--instead of the predictable acknowledgment that taking a less meaningful and challenging job for more money leaves you with, ahem, more money and a meaningless and less challenging job.

I keep trying to reframe this as taking care of me time, but I don't know how well I'm taking care of me if I don't like my job. Oh, when I am feeling more positively, I will devise methods of using my powerlessness and isolation to affect major change in the horribly punitive and culturally obtuse world of our residential center. At the least: free copies, and shiny silver binder clips of all sizes. All manner of sizes!

I can construct a tower to call for help. A day of low energy and even lower expectations leads to rescue fantasizes of the highest order. How many binder clips and neon post-its will it take to get Chris Thomson here? Like: right here.

Blurg. Hope you are well. And listen: don't send a team to find me. I'll get home just fine! I'll be fine.