What was I thinking when we said hello?

I usually refrain from threatening to embark on violent rampages, but right now I'm getting close, folks. I've had way, way too much time for introspection lately (and it's making me mad) and it's all my company's fault. They are so freaking cavalier about flying people out of seniority order and letting the rest of us languish in our respective homes, it makes me sick. The only thing to do is to harass, harass, harass. The supervisors, the schedulers, the union reps. They really don't seem to care.

I think they're vengeful. "Oh, she called again? Well, we'll fix that little bitch's wagon. Put her on the no-fly list for another five months."

Writing the column has been a welcome diversion, but hello, I have to actually travel in order to come up with material. I guess I could do a series on each each room in my house, but a nagging suspicion tells me people might not be interested.

I just switched from reading Pale Fire by Vladimir Nabokov to Holidays On Ice by David Sedaris so I could enjoy sarcasm grimmer than my own. And it makes me giggle. If there's anyone out there reading this who has never experienced the pleasure of reading his books, I urge you to immediately do so. He is a hilariously talented man.

Things are getting stagnant. I'm broke. I want to take a road trip to headquarters and break somebody's face.