I fight the daily anti-journal urge.

A few days ago, a frequent visitor of my web page was commenting on another friend's site, and how well done it was, and how much effort went into it.

"Until I saw her site," the friend said, "I always thought personal web pages were a waste of space."
(None taken, I thought to myself.)
"But her page is really first rate, up to date and really attractive. It inspires me.... why doesn't it inspire you?"
(Well, ouch.)
(It should be noted that this reader has never, to my knowledge, updated a web page.)

Recently, in an unrelated conversation, I was told that my last journal entry was "a pretty lame effort." The reader objected to the fact that much of the action took place several months ago, implying that I was skimping out on the current happenings in my life. (It should be noted that this reader has never, to my knowledge, had a web page.) I cannot agree more; I have been bored enough with my life of late to not want to bore others. But you asked for it.

It's been a worky couple of weeks. Newsweek did a cover story on how everyone's gonna Christmas shop online this year, so now all my clients expect me to make them a million dollars by the end of the month. In that same vein, my mom has put me in charge of getting her a Furby. Mom and clients alike will have to live with disappointment, and Newsweek will have to shut its damned yap in the future.

(Although, I did all of my Christmas shopping online this year. Not from any of my clients' sites, though.)

Unfortunately for my responsibilities, and fortunately for the other Furby buyers of the world, I've been reading resumes and interviewing for a new hire for much of the last month. It's absolutely fascinating to be on this side of the process. It's like a kind of justice, really, after the months I spent looking for work. I have decided to only interview people who send in resumes on crappy home printer paper. Anyone who gets those cream-colored laser copies from Kinko's obviously doesn't need the money badly enough. There is also some lingering bitterness from my own unemployment, since I chose to print out my resumes at home. A few months later, while going over some resumes at work, a colleague held one up and said, scoffing, "Nice paper," before throwing it away. I thought, "Shallow! I was unemployed for three months because of people like you!!!" So now I get to be reactionary.

The rest of my work time has been spent dodging Gwen and the time sheets. Although my rank has puffed me up into resume-readin' positions, they still want me to keep track of how much time I spend doing what on these little sheets of paper. It is the thing I hate most about my job, even more than the sound of the phone. Something about it just grates my mental cheese. It's probably the fact that Gwen, who is our Administrative Aide but whose title should be Office Mom, often scolds me about them; filling them out turns into one of those writing-50-times-on-the-blackboard-after-class experiences. "Talked to client x on phone. 1/2 hour. E-mail follow-up on campaign y. 1/2 hour. Went to Hardees. 1/4 hour. Tried to figure out how filling out these sheets benefits anyone in any way. 1/2 hour. Tried to figure out how these sheets make such a good job seem so painful. 1/2 hour. Fantasized about burning time sheets. 2.5 hours."

It's worse now than ever. About four weeks ago, you see, I went a whole week without filling a sheet out. Not a minute of my time accounted for. At the end of the week, though, nobody called me on it. Like any good criminal, I returned to the scene of the crime, failing to fill out a second week. No one said a word. It was wondrous! I felt like I'd been released from bondage! I barely even looked back as a third week went by, and then a fourth. Obviously, I thought, I have reached a high enough level of importance to be above such menial tasks! Oh, how I have longed for this day!

Then Gwen came in. "Jim, I think someone owes me some time sheets...! If you could find those and just put em on my desk... it would be a shame if somebody got grounded this weekend...."

So now, I have to try and remember what I was doing all month. "Monday: misc. filing, 7.5 hours. Lunch, .5 hours. Tuesday: meetings with coworkers, 8 hours. Wednesday: blatantly fabricating time sheets, 3.5 hours."

Since a great many of my friends have moved away in recent months, I have been struck lately by the things the workplace does to your relationships with other people. More accurately, I was surprised recently to realize that I essentially spend all day joking around with people who, if I was introduced to them at a party, I would punch in the kidneys.

I have a coworker who believes that Christmas is sinful, because Jesus was actually born in the spring and its date was taken from a pagan holiday. He resents having to take the day off. It would not take much to convince him the pope is the antichrist. It takes all the strength he has in him not to shout, "You're going to hell!" every time he sees us. We get along just fine.

I have a coworker who believes herself to be a witch. She offered to hex someone for me for Christmas. (I'm still thinking it over.) She likes that Christmas was originally a pagan holiday. We get along great.

Although in that case, we get along primarily out of sheer entertainment value. She's the type of person who makes wildly outlandish Cliff Claven-esque claims (example: Family Ties was a spinoff of Sanford & Son) and ends the ensuing argument by saying, "I'm older than you!" as if that's all it takes to be right. The other day, she came in furious--furious!-- that, upon opening the package of Christmas cards she'd just bought, they turned out to be religious! Religious Christmas cards! How dare they go and sneak religion into Christmas! And the more we tried to explain it to her, the more twisted her logic got.

"They should have said something to warn me!"
"Well, they are CHRISTmas cards, after all."
"Christmas isn't a religious holiday."
"It kind of is, actually. To some of us."
"No it isn't."
"It... what? It isn't?"
"No."
"But... birth of who?... whatmas?... was I misinformed?"
"To most thinking people, it's not a religious holiday, and they should have warned me."
"But... thinking?... but it's... wait a minute! There are angels on the front of the card! The one in the middle is reading a Bible!"
"... Angels aren't religious either."
"!... What the hell is wrong with you? Wait! The text from the cards is printed on the back of the box!"
She stared right at the back and said, after a pause, "No it's not." Then she left.
How could you not get along with a person like that?

So strange. In the name of Getting the Job Done, we all talk to each other like lifelong pals. Meanwhile, my friends, the people I choose to be around, I fight with constantly.