22 July, 1998

I Hide Under My Desk

Before and After Science has turned into comfort music. That was fast. Convenient, though. I'm back from Millbrae, where I spent about twenty minutes panicking, and for some reason I'm panicking again. No, I don't know why. I'm just .. *nervous*. Horribly nervous, so it's hard to remember to breathe, and my stomach hurts, and I have this intense urge to crawl under Rachel's desk and spend several hours there. Instead, though, I am listening to this nice music and writing here and trying to think about coding. I have bug-fixing to do.

Which I'm not getting done. Instead Rachel & I went to the Landmark Deli, where I bought Odwalla lime juice, and she bought some weird protein drink and a banana. I told her about Millbrae, and we talked for a while about things to do when you're panicking. Apparently a deep desire to hide under desks is not uncommon... so once back here with my lime juice I warned Vivek (my office-mate), and crawled beneath my desk. Now I'm back. It was nice.

Vivek is also very nice; he's pretty quiet and doesn't try to talk to me when I'm working, and appears to handle me crawling under my desk with great aplomb. Plus he has excellent taste in music -- Rush, Simon & Garfunkel, and many other CDs I haven't been nosy enough to paw through.

One button working! I can now save data. Next I debug the search, which is dying horribly on the constructors.

* * *

I continue to suffer without access; we're not getting our T1 for at least another week, and my office isn't getting live phone lines for at least a day or two. I am extremely grr; if we had live phone lines I could bring in Jim's laptop and at least check my work email & read my personal email & such. As it is, though, I concentrate on coding, and simmer balefully whenever someone asks me why I haven't answered their email.

Tomorrow I think I will start a series of descriptive entries explaining just who I am, what I do, etc. Those of you who have been reading since the beginning have probably managed to figure out all the unspoken changes, but I'm not sure if my journal is friendly to new viewers.


©1998 Cera Kruger

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