I'm assuming that the heathens among us who choose not to participate can take a 20-minute break at that time, because I am DAMN WELL not going to be punished with more work than my pious co-workers for choosing to not PRAY IN THE WORKPLACE.

It's a shame you told your cow-orkers what "shiz" meant because it could have been amusing to have them calling each other that during prayer time.

Work-mandated prayer time? Oh, not even. Tho' i would be totally obnoxious about it and set up candles and an altar. Perhaps with some icons of Voudoun loas.

I work with chaplains and we don't have work-mandated prayer time. We do, occasionally, pray or otherwise have devotions, but they're carefully and deliberately non-sectarian, what with our current leadership being a mix of Buddhist, Presbyterian, UCC, Jewish, and Catholic. And, you know, with no proselytizing being a legal standard of our workplace and an ethical rule/certification requirement of our chaplaincy accreditation body.

ION, the doctor wants me to come in at 2:30. Really, this ear has been screwy since Saturday--it's been kinda drainy and itchy, and an ear infection would explain why the dizzy spells I had yesterday and Monday and blamed on allergies and/or the heavy days of my period were so damn bad.

In an odd example of cosmic alignment, my mom, K-Bug and I all have GYN appointments tomorrow. Not all together, just happened that way. WTF?

Glad you're getting your ear looked at, Susan.

When I worked for a church, my boss, the head minister/rector, would lead a quick afternoon prayer service before weekly staff meetings. I usually just came in after them. Other than that, not so much with the praying during the workday. Of course, they were east-coast gay-loving hippie Episcopalians.

Prayer at work when you work in a church is a little different than prayer at work when you work at a magazine, though. And not even a religious magazine.

Prayer at work when you work in a church is a little different than prayer at work when you work at a magazine, though. And not even a religious magazine.

Oh, yeah, totally.

I'm still all discombobulated by dreaming about my ex last night. Part of me wants to ask mutual friends if everything is all right with him but then I remember I don't believe in that psychic stuff. The dreams took place around Chicago so maybe it was that the band last night played, "All That Jazz", "My Kind of Town" and "Chicago" so I had a home town vibe swimming around in my head as I fell asleep and he just came along for the ride. It's just so odd because the focus of the dream wasn't him at all, it was the cute girl my roommate had just started dating and how refreshingly honest and genuinely sweet she seemed. I don't like it when my brain nullifies my divorce!

granola bar-

This must be how my dad feels when he wakes up from a dream where he was smoking but he's not had a puff in 30 years.

hmm... apparantly, "just" is my word for the day. I edited out a couple uses and it still got through three times in two sentences.

Back from ultrasound. Briefly: the tech said that I seem to have an involuted cyst (I'm about to look up what that means) on my *left* ovary, which is odd because the pain is mostly on the right. The tech said that the radiologist will read the results and send them to my OB/GYN today, and we go from there. The tech (who I realize is not a doctor) seemed to think that the involuted cyst is not dangerous or a big deal, but of course the radiologist could see something totally different.

No alien baby.

That she was willing to admit to.

Best part? I was already stressed beyond belief when I got there, and while I was registering, I went to scoot the chair back, and it hit a lump or something in the rug, and somehow the chair moved one way and I moved the other (or stayed where I was) and so I ended up on my ass on the ground in front of a waiting room FULL of strangers, who quite reasonably laughed. Several hospital employees ran over to help me (I wasn't hurt, just horribly embarassed at drawing that kind of attention to myself), and if I could have just spontaneously combusted from shame right then and there, I would have.

But since I lack the capacity to self-immolate, I righted my chair, sat down, and burst into loud, honking sobs that I couldn't stop for t looks at watch well, I'm actually *still* teary and trying to hide it from my co-workers.

I know the weepiness is because I was stressed and because I'm still stressed and don't understand what the results really mean -- am I just a great big fat hypochondriac, or is there actually something real causing my pain, because I feel like it could be either -- and I'm embarassed that I can't even operate a CHAIR properly.

I *really* want that beer now.