I am in training. I have always been in training. My life stretches before me, a series of 6:30 and 7AM meetings.

I was pulled over for a brake light out about a month ago and I was shaking and almost in tears. The officer ended up not even getting my insurance, he took a step back from my car once he had my license and let me go with a verbal warning. I wasn't afraid of anything happening to me in broad daylight in a busy area, but I guess because of all my concerns wrt Mac and possible police interactions my body just reacted.

That makes sense, msbelle. It's terrible, but it makes sense.

I was driving on the highway a few days ago and saw a cop had pulled over someone and I kinda slowed down and was relieved that the arm I could see was white. And then I was all, well, what would you have done otherwise? Not like I could pull over and observe the traffic stop (I, um, have been instructed to move along before so I know that doesn't fly)

Someday your training hell will end, Dana. I have faith.

Most of my interactions with police have been on the up and up, though I've been less than thrilled with the helpfulness of the ones when I've been involved in highway incidents. Then again, I'm a white guy whose worst crimes have been speeding violations, so not really on their radar in senses other than the literal.

People don't usually think beyond their own needs, so I will be calm about the fact that nobody seems to be remembering that I'm working two jobs right now and I can't prioritize every request.

Instead I will churn through this work and then write down a list of moving things I need to accomplish today.

Hahaha, oh boss, giving us a deadline of 10am when the whole department is in a meeting 9-10:45 doesn't make a whole lot of sense...oh well, have done what I can.

I woke up with my back moderately jacked up (SUPER sore and tight, but not pinchy-painful), so now I'm trying to work after taking a muscle relaxant. By the end of the article I'm probably going to be making sentences read "In May 2014, a man in his 60s presented to his dermatologist for an enlarging patch on his forehead, glarble flarmner hoooooo."

Ooo, Steph, that sucks. I have to hold onto the walls after I take a muscle relaxant, so I wish you much coherency.

The Cincinnati thing… no words. My heart hurts.

Angry author is still angry, demanding special snowflake treatment and what am I going to do about this. My boss is in the special hell dealing with her boss this morning, so I gave her a break and agreed to handle Snowflake myself. I wrote him an email telling him the same thing I told him in the last email, and copied the Editor in Chief. Oh, please, go on and escalate this, Dr. Snowflake, so the higher-ups will ask me what happened and I can tell them professionally and diplomatically what a jerk you are. You won't get any satisfaction from them, either, I promise.

And now I have to get dressed for real and take my car to the mechanic.

Angry author is still angry, demanding special snowflake treatment and what am I going to do about this.

This is the one whose article was published with an error? And he already knows a correction is going to be published? What else can you do? I mean *literally* what else can you do? Offer to fly him to your office so he can punch the person who made the error? Buy him a labradoodle?

Seriously, what else does he want from you, beyond a correction being published?