Love Letter to my Excel Worksheet...

I'm still at work. Why, yes indeed, it is 8:15 pm. And I'm probably not leaving any time soon.

And back at 9:30 am tomorrow.

Holy hell.

Paycheck, think paycheck...

And this spreadsheet is out to get me and I cannot believe the transcripts that I read. Here are lawyers that bill out at $600/hr or something ridiculous like that and they're bitching about when to take a bathroom break. God, I hate Excel. [author would like to note that that last sentence was added at a later time]

Maybe they just sound stupid on paper.

This entry, though it will be short, will have taken me an hour to post. I stop to write a little something to keep my mind sane while I do this. Little break here, little work there, little break here, little work there.

And now smoke break. See? I have a system for sanity. I should write a book.

God, I hate Excel. Why do you hate me so, spreadsheet? Why do you change format on me for no good reason? Is it because I never had to learn you before? Are you paying me back for that? There wasn't too much need to do spreadsheets when I was a theatre major. It wasn't anything personal. I promise. Just work with me here, and I'll fill you in and go home and eat pizza. And then we'll meet again tomorrow and we'll do it again. I'm here for you, spreadsheet. I just need a little more from you. All I ask is that you function.

Otherwise this relationship is never gonna work.

We're over, Excel.

Don't call me.