First, I think Barbara Boxer wants me to like her. She sent me email explaining why Samuel Alito wouldn’t be a good Supreme Court Justice. But, I already sent her an email saying the same thing. It’s like she wants me to think we’re all cool and shit.

I don’t know, though, Barbara and her aides write a good email. But, like, I don’t think GWB would, like, be her myspace friend or anything, so I don’t think he’ll read her email. And, all the other guys on the Senate who are on myspace and friends with George, they probably won’t read it either.

Fucking myspace, I mean, U.S. government.

That all worries me.

Then, there’s the trip to Malaysia. Sure, warm tropical beaches, chicken satay, exoticism, photo ops, that’s all cool and stuff. But, there’s also the matter of the relatives dropping by from miles around to celebrate the new year and view the return of the prodigal. In terms of numbers, I figured my family was off the hook crazy by weight and volume of activity around a holiday. M.’s done that and survived.

No he’s topping me on the occasion of the Chinese New Year. There ain’t gonna be cat-swinging room for all the aunts and cousins who will be around. In their midst will be I, who, I believe, to them will be”the chubby white chick” with awesomely horrific attempts to stammer out Mandarin pleasantries.

Yup, more worries.

Finally, there’s work. What can I say? I want to slack, I yearn, I pine, I howl at the moon in vainglorious attempts to harness a slacker mind. I just can’t fucking do it. Perhaps the torment that was my mother and her attitude toward work was rubbed a bit to ingrained into my hide. I lean toward not exactly workaholicness, but giving a bit too much of a shit all the same.

And, yet, I plan to leave for a bit on a true blue real vacation (something I took precious few of in my last stint working for the man).

Worse yet, I leave immediately after sitting for a yearly review that has been calendarized at a time when I haven’t worked for a year yet. One of the self-evaluation questions asks as to how I have fostered camraderie and work and play well with others. (OK, fostering camraderie is in there, but working/playing isn’t. Artistic license.)

The only answer I can think of so far is, “Since joining this organization I have fostered a sense of camraderie and esprit to corps by not stabbing anyone.” (Of course, lacking historical context, they likely couldn’t match my level of amusement if I were to write that.)

So, yeah, worry, worry, worry.

Politics, travel with my boy-o, work, what’s not to obsess unhealthily about?