At low ebb. Everything smells bad, looks ugly, annoys me. My boss makes me angry, or makes me want to cry, I forget which. Today she's after help with foxing the automatic pagination when you're using tables in Word. I try to explain what and why but it's hard over gagging and watering eyes. My new office-mate, that is, not my boss. My boss assures me I won't be going anywhere until they're sure it's a positive move. I don't care anymore, I just want out of here. The room is beginning to take on a sweetish sour smell, and I will too, if I stay here much longer. It reminds me of the smell of rotting cammomile tea-bags but sourer, more human.
I was going to tell you about scabby little girls, orchids en masse, why you need Gruyere in fondue, the mysterious CDrom wigwam, and the dange of listening to gossip past its use-by date in a Polish restaurant where all the vodkas have too many consonants and the waitress has a lisp but I'm feeling too distraught. Perhaps suggesting that she start the document all over again, making it landscape from the outset, was a touch mean?
Ah. She's resorted to gluestick and the photocopier. Good-oh. If only she didn't now need to tell me, and show me, I might be able to concentrate on this very important webmonkey tutorial about how to redesign your entire website with no staff or support.
"In an ideal world, you'd have the money and resources for a completely dynamic site (and for the equipment to house it). Then you could drop all your content into a database and pull it up via a template, which you could easily change whenever the site needed a new look. And why stop there? You could set up chat rooms, live data feeds, online shopping. You could even offer each user a unique, tailor-made version of the site.
Now while a bleeding-edge site, outfitted with every last bauble, might be nice, it's certainly not necessary for everyone. If you work alone, and especially if you're doing your own site, then you're probably staggering under the strain of limited resources. The answer is to Frankenstein together a hybrid "tree" that is a balance of the plastic, chopped, and living trees. Do it right, and it will look and feel mighty real."
Unfortunately, I took over from my predecessor between paragraphs. So ... (bright smile), jobhunting, then!