25.1.05

Babies, ice cream, sledding.

Dear Diary,

Morale is at an all-time low at Company V, where I work as a technical writer. Even I, who as you know am eternally cheerful and optimistic, have a case of the "ho-hum"s and the "I'd-rather-stab-myself-in-the-neck-than-work-here-another-day"s. So, to keep my spirits up as I toil away, I like to think of jobs that would be worse than mine. For example:

1. People who have to use the software I write about. Those poor suckers.

2. The guy who stocks the vending machines here, who has to read all the nasty post-it notes about who lost how much money and when. (People, come on. It's 55 cents. Take it as a sign that you didn't need that snickers after all.)

3. J-Lo's trainer.

4. J-Lo's dancer.

5. J-Lo's husband.

6. The technician at the vet. He has to stick things up cats' butts and he probably gets paid minimum wage.

7. Producer on Oprah. Like it was Oprah's idea to give away those cars.

8. Oprah's cook/trainer/stylist. They probably live in fear of her getting fat again. Same with Star Jones.

9. Any of the poor, unsuspecting telemarketers who dare to call my house when I'm feeling drunk and sassy.

10. My boss. If my job sucks, I'm sure her job sucks even more.

See how I keep everything in perspective, Diary? This job is looking pretty good. I think I'll get right back to work! These nails won't file themselves, you know.

Love, Fluffy