The party was lovely: Tons of food, former co-workers I haven't seen in a few months with their lovely children, plenty of beer, the whole deal. And I got to spend a whole 15 minutes with everyone before I had to go back to my boss' crib to file my two stories. By the time I got done, everyone was gone. There was cake still left out when I came back, though, and beer, of which I pounded two cans before I left.

(...)

Does it end there? Of course it doesn't: I look at my story on the cop shooting this morning, and the reporter who took my dictation (because I never really did figure out how to work my boss' computer; they had so much spyware and anti-virus stuff on it) made it all wordy and weird, which annoys me to no end, especially since he's a good writer otherwise.

And today's story? A woman who saved two starving kittens abandoned on the side of a highway and how police in three different munis laughed at her for wanting them to help her figure out what to do. I think I'll just go slit my wrists now.