"I'm Not Mad at You, I'm Mad at the Dirt."

One of my favorite lines from a movie (Mommie Dearest, 1981).

And that's the way I've been feeling lately. My friend at work has been on maternity leave since the middle of May, and won't be back until the end of August. I'm not mad at her, I'm mad at the situation.

Mad that I'm so fucking busy at work. Mad that I won't be able to take a real vacation until September.

I'm in meetings most of the day, which makes it really hard to get any work done when I'm not at my desk. So I either let it go until the next day (or the day after) when I have some time to actually work. Or I stay until 6:00, skipping the gym, and get shit done.

I've done both. Neither makes me happy. It makes me frustrated. It makes feel out of control.

Today, I was in meetings for four hours, tomorrow six. I left work at 4:15 anyway. Came home and went for a walk. And while I walking -- Rob Base and Katy Perry and Aerosmith and Michael Jackson on my iPod -- I didn't think about work. I didn't think about anything. And so for a little while, I was happy with the way things are currently happening.

And so as long I remember that I'm mad at the dirt, I won't get all Pepsi Board Room on anyone.