It’s never a good sign when it’s not even ten a.m. and the entire package of Marshmallow Peep Bunnies that Adam got me (how is Easter candy out already?) has been devoured and I’m scouring the office for more signs of sugar. This is entirely due to my sheer and total annoyance at someone here, someone messing with one of my articles out of pure ignorance. Now, I have no issues with being edited–in fact, I adored the helpful critique I got last night from my new writing group–but arbitrary changes just to exert control steam me. Especially ludicrous ones that leave an article ending flat. I’m also steamed that even when I copy pages from The Chicago Manual of Style and Merriam-Webster’s Collegiate Dictionary to prove why the words ad interim and emeritus should not be italed, it is insisted that they are italed because of the whim of a head honcho. And you know what? I said I’d never rant about work, because it’s unprofessional, but the politics in academia are horrendous, and at this point, if they want to fire me, let them at it, but they’ll have to move quickly to beat me in giving my notice. Okay, so I’m not quitting. And they’re not going to fire me, because I smile nicely and say, “Can I rewrite the ending for you again? No? Well, that’s just fine. I’ll take it out and make the article weak and boring.” But a girl can dream, can’t she?
Where to Find Me
