I can't complain to Katya, because I think that is a good way to destroy our relationship. More to the point, I think it would be really irritating. So I'll just complain to the Interweb, because I know no one reads this page but me... I guess I'm really complaining to my Future Self, in his knowledge and power living out his life in the Glorious Future. I envy you... although, I suppose, things could get worse. I imagine that while I worked at Chicago Spotlight I was envying the Future Me, and that is laughable.
At any rate, They took my chair this morning, and now I have no chair and I want to laugh because it is so ridiculous, and I want to cry and cry. They found an old, broken chair that is too short for the desk I work at.
While I'm whining, I may as well mention that my contacts (to be changed every two weeks without fail) are old... at least two months old, perhaps more. It is difficult to see through them.
But I have so much potential! That could make a nice epitaph, it sometimes seems.