It appears that a couple dutiful and beloved readers were mislead by my last post. I am not, in fact, intending to quit blogging completely. I love my blog, and really, it's the only place where I can publicly air all the laundry that pertains to my obsessions with sex, racial identity, kinks, quirks, funks and fiascos.
However, I have a job replete with 12-hour days and 6-day weeks and slanderous back-biting and frenetic hysteria and, well, it's a lot more than this little guppy bargained for.
I had plans to leave work at 5:30 this evening. Instead, for the 2nd Friday in a row, I was in the office until nearly 8pm. Before leaving, the big boss... the vice president... left me an ominous post-it on my computer monitor. And then, when he re-surfaced, minutes later, in my very own office, he somehow managed to swindle me out the better portion of my 3-day weekend. Nevermind that I've been in the office for a minimum of 10 hours a day for the last two weeks. Nevermind that my insomnia has revisited me with a vengeance (and yes, I'm composing multiple choice items in my fitful dreams). Nevermind that I've gotten, maybe, 4 yoga practices in in the last 3 weeks. Nevermind that, even though I'm not getting adequate excercise, I'm losing my love-handles because my stomach is too acidic for eating to hold much appeal.
And so, no, I don't intend to quit blogging altogether, but I can't keep up this pace and still have synapses left to fire off anything above and beyond whiny posts like this.
I feel crazy. No. Strike that. I'm convinced that the aforementioned VP has lost his everloving mind. You can't run a ship like this. Folks are awfully likely to jump.
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