I can’t stand the paranoia that lives within me (and as it turns out
after a phone conversation lives outside me, too.)

There should be some sort of fucking acid test for whether you were
destined to screw up, implode (or in my case be perceived to fuck up)
in the old workplace. Or, if your seemingly cool boss might be
inclined to throw you to the wolves on a whim.

A girl’s got to know when and if there might come a time when she
mights have to get a lawyer working for her again.

Everything about this job and this state so far indicates it’s a far
cry from my former digs. From the Onion (www.theonion.com) reading
president to the fact that just about everyone here has come from a
variety of past jobs and varied interests and seems pretty true to the
school of making the world a better place. Shit, people here right
letters to the editor and op ed pieces out there in the public world,
where everyone can see them.

But, little old me, I’m keeping my light slightly under a bushel.=20
Because I can’t let myself take the risk of trusting I won’t get
fucked again.

So, when the boss starts talking about Intelligient Design and leaves
an article from the NY Times on my chair and we discuss the decline
and fall of American culcha. (She thinks it’s the end of civilization
with US inhabitants at their fattest, dumbest and most complacent
ever. I told her I think it’s the "End Times" and I’m waiting for the
Rapture.) So when all this goes down, and I want to write about
Intelligient Design, I’m checking myself and over-thinking whether
it’s work safe. What the angle might be. Where I can get reamed
anew.

Fucks with my ‘blog-writing mojo, that’s what.

Same with checking out the new boss’s husband’s website, which
apparently has gotten a lot of ‘blog buzz. It’s an interesting music
thang. I’m listening now. But, I ain’t linking to the site.

Fucking hell. I should have changed my name when I moved west. From
now on my name is Cassandra Peebles.