I don’t want to leave them out and about on my desk in case some one reads them and confirms my manic diagnosis. “The Madwoman Chronicles” But what’s a person supposed to do? Walk the halls?
We have no water cooler to lean on and shoot the breeze, so I can’t do that. I’m as nervous as the mice in the backyard when Bob is about. Eeek, someone’s coming, wad up that sheet of scribbles and get it into the purse, the only private spot I have in this whole place.
Oh my gosh, I counted them- I have 5 scribbled pages in there and this will make 6. Is this government waste? I sure hope not. I would bring my journal instead, and I even did one day, but it was just TOO obvious, so I gave it up.
My right foot is rocking back and forth resting on top of the swivel legs of this chair. I definitely am in a jittery, jumpy, nerves on edge peri-menopausal place today. Somebody better let me out of this barn or I am going to start kicking down the stall doors!
Oh boy, here comes page seven!