I am a delicate artiste. That's not something I want to face up to about myself, but I guess it's true. If I do something that I think is good work, and it goes uncomplimented, or uncritiqued, or generally uncommented upon for very long, I start to second guess my work, and think that it must not be very good, because if people could think of anything nice to say, you know, they'd say it. Right? So then I start harrassing my friends, insisting to know what they think, and demanding brutal honesty. Usually, they tell me I do good work and to stop worrying about it. So I do, because generally, they are honest. It's odd, though, because, like Erich, I don't usually receive compliments well. I never know how to react to them. Even so, when it comes to my writing, I have to confess, I am a compliment whore.

Today I have to finish my math assignment for chapter 2, and take the quiz. It will be inaccessible after midnight, so I have to do it today. I'm basically finished with the assignment, but I have to put it into an e-mail friendly format before I can turn it in.

I also have to write a set of fake spoilers for the upcoming Buffy (don't ask), and I'd like to write an entry for Internal Monologue, and between all that, I have to post new employee pictures to the staff web site, and arrange soem meetings, and do various other work-type things. Oh, and I need to check the postings at Guru and see if I can't find myself some work. Since I've already wasted half of my day hanging out on the Buffy boards and play-fighting with Terrence (which he went and deleted because I think he thought he actually hurt my feelings, or I hurt his, or something, I don't know, but he's a big baby nonetheless, but then I have been quite the bitch today, so perhaps I did go too far), I suppose I should stop writing this, shut down my browser, and get to it, right?

Right.