here's the punchline:
they are scumsuckers and baby sharks.

� my sister, in e-mail this morning

Hi hi hi. Yes I am feeling better today. I hate to get all therapeutic, but man oh man, sometimes it really is a case of Sometimes It Helps To Write. I spilled water on my keyboard earlier today, which is always a risk when you are trying to put back three liters a day, and it took a while to snag a new one so now it is late. Since last I typed, I packed five boxes of books, disassembled one of the three bookcases in my room � yes I have some disassemble-able furniture, shut up � and threw away a large back of garbage and various belongings that I took a deep breath and decided that I really can�t rationalize keeping anymore. I also ate sushi, failed to take a shower, bought Ugly Duckling�s "Taste the Secret," and found out that my credit is all of a sudden completely hosed. About the last of which you can bet I panicked for a few hours, but then I talked to Vanessa and she calmed me down by pointing out that even if what the MBNA operator said is true it�s also the case that most people�s credit is even worse, and she also encouraged me to reconfigure my panic into irritation about the so-called collections agency that has made no attempt whatsoever to collect from me and also about the insanely Big Brotherish world of credit bureaus, which make DARPA look like Sesame Street.

Mary, do not contact me about my credit. I beg of you. Whatever the fuck is going on, I will (a) figure out and (b) handle. Please let me be a big girl by myself on this one.

Also I didn�t have time to start a diary entry earlier today because I have been doing my super office girl act to make everyone notice me and thank me so that they are even sorrier when they find out on Monday that I�m leaving and the next victim looks like even more of an incomp by comparison. I am sorry, next incomp, I bear you no personal ill will, but you know how it is. It�s these motherfuckers I want to see making the Home Alone face for the next week or so. Here is what Steve said, and I of course I would like to agree: Yes, they will be like that tribe in Papua New Guinea that built the model of the airplane to bring the anthropologists back. They will put fruit on your desk, even after you've been replaced by a chimp. Then the chimp will eat the fruit and fling his feces. Rock and roll!

So I don�t want to dwell in/on the subject matter of yesterday�s entry. I try not to cut myself slack though and to report things as honestly as I can, and in that vein I should state for the record precisely what I am guilty of on the dead-horse tip and here they are:

• I did not like his best friend when I first met her. From square one I was suspicious of her and her obvious devotion to him and disinclination to get to know me � forget how in retrospect I come off like Nostradamus � and I said so in my diary but not in real life. I started to type a disclaimer there about how later I was trying so hard, but no: this is the case against me and there�s no place for that kind of elaboration.
• The night after he dumped me, I went out and got drunk and got kissed goodnight by a person whom he happened to have been thinking all along was in my stealth harem.

I�m trying to feel good. A recruiter saw my resume on Monster and invites me to apply for a year�s contract at Intel � at HQ outside of Portland, so unfortunately no go � that is classified as "senior editor/project management." That�s great, right? That seems like something I could consider a vote of confidence. I have a few custom resumes I have to send out tomorrow as well. Also on MSNBC I read Glenn Reynolds� piece on anecdotal evidence of a market recovery, and I you don�t like to say this about Glenn Reynolds but he makes a persuasive case and I am going to try to believe him.

Eek, time to go already.