Barb's Burblings

I’m cranky. I don’t know

I’m cranky. I don’t know why. I was fine this morning. I think it’s when I was sitting here, trying to read or something, and all of these people just kept talking. Loudly. In the hallway. Not bothering to go to someone’s office. True, I wasn’t working on anything that really required concentration, but it still annoyed me. Then I was getting pestered about stupid things—namely, that an editor hadn’t received payment for editing the book. Am I in charge of this book? No. Am I psychically able to know when the editors should be paid? No. If they needed to be paid, tell me. And don’t say, “Next tell [you’ll] let [me] know.” There is no next time. This is the last book I’m doing your admin on. I’ll keep doing the administrative crap for my books. But nobody else’s. Let’s see how you do, trying to coordinate contracts, and payments, and comp copies. Good luck! Also, people, please stop asking me where Leslie is. I don’t keep track of her. I don’t keep track of anyone but myself. If she’s gone, I might know where she is. I might not. And don’t look pissed when I say that I don’t know where she is. It’s not my fault she’s not at her desk. And I’ve been getting irrationally angry at the Internet for not loading certain sites fast enough. Yes, repeatedly pounding the “Refresh” key was involved.

To sum up: Leave me alone. If in doubt, don’t talk to me right now. I’m sure I’ll be good tonight, when I have my Spotlight on Theater (fingers crossed that the cute lead in As You Like It will be there) and my book club. Those will perk me up. But for now? Back off.

Oh, and I forgot. Please stop talking to yourself. I know that I do it on occasion, but I limit it to when I’m by myself. There’s a reason for that.