I was out of the office yesterday, because starting sometime Monday afternoon, I was dealing with the beginnings of a migraine--bad enough that I was wishing for sunglasses on the drive home from Applebees...at 10:30pm.
I did crawl out of the cave that was my apartment long enough to take myself to the polling place--and managed to end up there with Brett, which was completely unplanned. But...it sucked to go outside (ow, the daystar, it burns us), and I hurt, but I voted. Go me. Buh-bye, Davis. Good riddance. But, I'll give him this, at least: his concession speech was very gracious.
This morning upon my return to the office, I found a few things out of place...the origami swan was knocked off the shelf over the monitor, as was the black and red bug that Brett gave me (mind you, they're on opposite ends of the shelf), and the blown glass carousel horse I have up there was likewise tipped over.
I want to know who is fucking around with my stuff when I'm not here. Hello, fucktards, keep your hands off my shit. I don't think it's anyone in the fishbowl--I'd hope not, definitely--which leaves facilities, as they're basically the only other people who have access to this room. It's happened often enough that I'm awfully tempted to ask my soon to be office mates if we can lock the damn door when we leave at night. Grr.
Stop fucking with my stuff!
Posted by Liz at October 8, 2003 07:52 AMI remember coming into work one day and finding all my desk stuff rearranged. I felt kind of violated in a way, since I'd had it arranged as I liked it. So I timidly asked if someone had been at my desk and this one coworker lady told me the cleaning staff had probably been through.
I miss my desk. It was /my desk/.
Posted by: Zou at October 8, 2003 06:09 PM