Kartik will be out office starting on 10/3/09 till 12/3/09, I will respond to your E-mails when I return. Somebody please remind me to put up my out-of-office tomorrow and send out that Dear So-and-so, to that special someone.
I'm stressed beyond belief, I could probably do with a bad case of worms now, anything for an excuse to get out of office for a day.
I hate getting the feeling that I'm in over my head. I hate being ask detailed questions about issues that I have no clue about. I like knowing my studies inside out. When someone asks me a question, I should be able to respond with detailed examples, with two lines of code I should be able to pull up detailed reports, take a screenshot and fire off a mail with a "please find my response in red".
Today I had three meetings overlap and the only reason I didn't notice was that I had forgotten to add one to my calendar, it was only when I got the agenda and dial-in-details half an hour before the start that I realised I was going to have to miss it and then I had the painful job of writing to my Trial Stat explaining why I missed her meeting because I forgot all about it.
I'm listening to the new GnR album right now, Chinese Democracy, 20 years in the making and so absolutely mediocre it's painful to listen to.
Even worse, over the last few weeks, all I've done is sit at my desk, eat, smoke and sleep. Now, almost everyone I know has told me I've put on a bit of weight, I mean it's almost reached the point where random strangers stop me and comment on it. Are you crazy people? Do you have no idea what NOT to say to an anorexic? Even worse are the middle aged pot-bellied colleagues patting me on my stomach. Well I'll show them, if I don't eat for a week, I'll be back to my normal half-starved-crazed-glint-in-my-eye look that has served me so well in the past.
To positively top it off, I have these intermittent pains in my stomach and no they're not pangs of hunger, knowing my luck it's probably a 6 foot Ascaris, I tried to poison it with alcohol over the weekend, but having grown up in the broken home that's my stomach, the bastard was probably sexually abused by it's parent when it was still a innocent little egg and subsequently grew up to become a substance abusing, self-loathing little roundworm. Now in his late twenties (in Nematode-years of-course), he has a million or so illegitimate little baby lumbrocoides swarming around him fathered and mothered by him/her, attaching themselves to my intestinal wall, sucking whatever little nutrients I pass their way. My stomach has to be the ghetto of all guts everywhere, I can so imagine it, mugging, rape and armed robbery every-where. Food is hard to come by, but liquor is plentiful, the cops never come around, occasionally a nitroimidazole drops by decimating the populace.
I'm sure there are even a few genetically modified, fluorescent E. coli flagellating themselves around in my GI tract (I never washed my hands after lab). Oh the pain, oh the trauma, oh the beauty.
No I'm not drunk, just severely disturbed.
