I write to you today from a hot liquid hell of files and boxes and boxes and files, none of which make any sense to me. I don't even want to talk about it. It's an Office Space nightmare.
Also, people keep stealing my office supplies. Often they replace the office supplies with other office supplies of an inferior quality--for example, they take my nice sharp scissors and then bring me back ancient, rusty pruning shears. It's driving me bat loony. (Remeber that TMBG song, "Someone keeps moving my chair"? I'm that guy.)
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Last night's meeting with the WA Toxics guy went really well; I'm excited about the project. He said that there are plenty of people out there who really want to tell their stories, so it won't be like I'm circling vulture-like around someone's sick bed in an attempt to wring their sad, sad story out of them. Instead, I will be helping to give voice to the oppressed! (Or, um, something a little less grand-sounding than that.)
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Thanks for the notes of support about the man situation, or lack thereof. I haven't actually actively tried to find anyone to date since I've been here, so I guess that will be Step One. Step Two is where things get kind of sticky, because I never know exactly what Step Two is.
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