Cloud Nine

Yeah, it's where I live today. Why? Because I have three documents and a deadline, and am looking at a late night. That may not sound like much, but I thrive on a deadline. The quality of the work is the same whether I spread it out or cram it up (give or take...and depending on who assigns the deadline...) but the main thing is that I have three documents and carte blanche to improve the docs as I see fit. This--this is what I live for, professionally. I'll manage meetings. I'll take notes. I'll incorporate other people's comments. I'll rearrange files. But when someone tells me to take this doc and make it better, without telling me how to do it (because really, if they knew how, why would they be talking to me?)...Let us just say that I don't mind working through lunch for that. My concept of job satisfaction is one word: control.

Stockholming: Days 11 (left) and 12 (right)


I was planning to post yesterday, but I kind of felt that my head was about to explode, and then J and I had a misunderstanding (trying to be too polite to each other...it was pretty ridiculous) so it was 10 before we finished dinner, and yesterday just didn't happen. Let me say, though, that I'm feeling pretty good about the changes I'm affecting. Notice the smiles in the pictures?





Hmmm. No. You can only see one picture, because I still can't get the lighting right in the full-length mirror. Monkeys. Well, there's a smile in each one, and it's a real smile, not a "I'm takin' a picture" smile, because I'm happy with both the bod and the outfit. I could pick each one apart--I'm actually starting to do it in my head--but mostly I'm just thinking how much I like the pencil skirt in Day 11 (Old Navy, best thing ever...I may need about 5 more in varying shades of dark-wash denim) and how much narrower I'm starting to look in the waistal region in Day 12 (either by real work, dehydration, posing, or clever clothing selection. I'm not picky; I'll take whichever one I can get). Next steps: believing that J doesn't actually want to run screaming when I'm all tired and sweat-panted, which he cleverly masks with smiles and marriage proposals. Shifty man.