Crabby Is As Crabby Does
Crabby is a good thing. Catching Crabby is another thing. These and fourteen hundred other Googlisms about Crabby were courtesy of Ice Queen, a wealth of fun-but-time-wasting links.

Yes, catching Crabby has been tricky this week. I'm suffering from new job angst. For nine months I sat in my home-office researching chromosone 22 deficiencies, writing about advocacy for blind people, and writing editorials about Bramalea's new homes market. I communicated with the world by e-mail; I think I had two meetings in November, and two in January. This week, however, it's a different story.

I'm living in Dilbert hell. Today I was invited to a pre-meeting meeting. I was e-mailed four different draft agendas for a thirty minute teleconference. I've been asked to accomplish the impossible twice (in twenty minutes revise, edit, and proofread a twenty-page document that had seven authors' formatting changes incorporated). I'm sure I'll be fired. Good thing I know lots about Bramalea. That should get me far in life.

So more about advocacy. I'm a terrible advocate. The gay marriage issue is very au courrant. If I were gay, or somehow marginalized by society, no way would I fight for my rights. I'm too meek. I'm too complacent. I would never march or protest for anything. I work right beside the courthouse on University Avenue (a "court in session" light blinks at me outside my window). There are different groups griping about something almost everyday, marching around with placards, chanting shit I can't understand. Really, they just take up the whole sidewalk, and what with the languishing smokers, nobody can get past them. I think they are wasting their time out there. I also want the nurses and teachers to shut the hell up. If you don't like your job, if you think you're getting the shaft, then quit. Go work at a Mac's Milk and see how much respect you get there.