On the outside?
Calm.
Composed.
Demure.

I am Jackie O.
Totally Gwynnie P.

BUT (!)
On the inside?

If you can’t even turn ON the computer without the password within the training manual you fully intended to bring with you on The First Day but totally forgot to because you were so excited that you rushed out the door and due to sheepishness opted for black pants instead of the skirty illustrations of giddiness pictured in the post down under?

The above graphic pretty much describes the synapses firing.
What if they come in and I haven’t even turned on the computer yet?!

Thank the Lord The Mister answered the phone sleepily and relayed all mandatory info.

Post spontaneous combustion?  All was golden.

[ This Is What Happens When The Mister Works All Day. ]

All groceries put in their respective homes.
All laundry folded and tidily snuggled away.
Aaaaaaaaand I get New Job Jitters for tomorrow so I decide I want to figure out what to wear and it turns into a little game of dress up and I have entirely too much fun and hey stop judging me I just lost 28 lbs that’s a marginal accomplishment of sorts. No?

Hard for me to look at my mug (hence X’s on 4 and 6).
Kind of like hearing your voice on someone else’s answering machine.

Seacrest LindeBlog out!

Yesterday, I took a lovely little periwinkle I Am On The Beach I’m So Cold I Must Cross My Arms Like This sweater into Olde Jobbe. (From here on out, aforementioned may now be referred to simply as Sweater.)

[ This Is Where Things Get Squirrely. ]

Upon realizing Sweater’s seemingly random disappearance from the back of my chair, Unreliable Coworker and I began to turn the office upside downcakes.

He was in top form: kicking in chairs and knocking down tables.  Wait.  That’s a Pet Shop Boys song. HOLD THE PHONE AND REWIND: digging through trash cans and emptying the contents of the mini-fridge (read: desperation had reached it’s pique).

“I think you left it at home,” Replacement Me Who I Was Training looked at me with googly eyes as though I were of The Crazy.

Okays, look Replacement Mes.
I is NOT crazy.
Bite lip.

After two hours of explaining my sanity, I reached my lowest point by embarrassingly confessing my extreme dorkiness (see: previous posting VisiBlog: Auf Weidersehens!) to take a picture of Olde Jobbe for memory-shaped things.

And in one of those candid shots? Sweater was alive and fully functioning on my person. (Picture deleted because I felt beastly. Damnation and hellfire, I wish I hadn’t now purely for photographic evidence.)

[ This is Where The Plot Thickens. ]

“Did you happen to see a sweater mingling on your premises?” I asked the Jester Market cashier from whom I purchased the coffees from at 8:30 that very mornings.

“I’ll check the video surveillance and get back to you.” He Sherlock Holmsed.

“Ahhhh thank you.” I sighed.

Ten minutes pass.
He entered the office to deliver his results.

“Light blue sweater.  With the v in the back.”  He folded his arms. “You were indeed wearing it at 8:30 this morning.”

Now… I’m not pointing fingers.
Or passing blame.
Or judging.

But an eency wee teeny part of me wonders (after checking everything short of climbing through the air duct vents like Judd Nelson) if the odd puffy bulge coming from Replacement Me’s bag was my loving, sad, and now forever gone Sweater.

THAT I ONLY GOT TO WEAR ONCE.