Alllll better.

One long-awaited night of sleep undisturbed by an alarm clock followed by a therapeutic Star*ucks soy caramel macchiatto can work some magic, no?

My frustration-filled previous post was work-related, as you might have guessed. You know, being in charge of your own department for a company is all well and good when you, for the most part, can pretty much set your own schedule and go about your business undisturbed and, most importantly, unsupervised by your boss. However, every once in a while, you do find yourself in a situation in which you are left to clean up after the mess created by well-meaning but astoundingly incompetent people who show a tremendous amount of skill only in finding the singularly most convoluted, inefficient and nonsensical way to do, oh, anything. And then when things, for some reason, don't turn out well, an angry phone call gets placed to yours truly. And because I am so awesome, I spend the following two days waving my magic wand and sprinkling my fairy dust around (oh wait, I mean just using my brain...) until everything is aaaall better, and the incompetent people realize what they did wrong, the angry people realize that they had nothing to be angry about in the first place, and I realize that I deserve a bigger paycheck.

Anyway, in case you didn't know, I am hella glad it's the weekend. That's right. Hell-ah. We had an early (blurgh) meeting yesterday morning that involved everybody else talking and me sitting in the farthest possible chair nursing a double Americano and sending text messages to Scott that said such things as "This meeting is sooooo booooooring." and "I want to SLEEP." But I never got any text messages back because he was still sleeping. Lucky bastard. I vaguely remember at one point the Bossman said, "Ysabel, did you want to say anything regarding print? How are things going?" to which I responded with a half-conscious smile, a slight nod and the a-ok sign on my right hand. Yeah, I think that's what happened.

In other news: I'm now in the very early stages of beginning to think about going back to school for a post-graduate degree in music history. More on that in the coming months, I suppose.