Paperwork paperwork paperwork. Panic. More paperwork. I won't be able to start my program on time - I'll most likely have to start a week later. This doesn't feel nearly as much like a failure as maybe it should.
I don't know if I can do this. I don't know if I'm cut out for all of this. I tried calling my manager to ok the delayed start date, but she wasn't there. It'd be nice to hear some kind of comfort from my boss, if possible.
This weekend's going to be...interesting. Tonight Lindsay's party, crashing at Erin's, tomorrow bad movie(s) with Erin, Sunday Terry Pratchett. In between times, I need to set up my final schedule, and incorporate the permission slips that have come in and try to come up with some kind of actual scheduling information for the volunteers, who I'm training next week. Breathe. Breathe, Stephie, breathe. Crap. Not working.
Completely random sidebar: I believe that Small Gods may be my favorite Discworld book that doesn't involve the character of Death. Death, and the Death of Rats, are still my favorites.