With Two Yardsticks

I didn't break the copy machine. I'm so swamped with other things that I haven't even given a thought to making copies.

But I fixed the copy machine today. A jam so far back that I had to use two yardsticks to pull it out. I then tested the copy machine, determined the glitch, and wrote a note of warning . . . and signed my name to it.

I have so much work to do, in so many different directions, that my stomach is clamping up every time I have a stray moment to think and I keep making lists . . . and then lists of the lists. And yet, I'm on my hands and knees fishing out paper with yardsticks.

I haven't gotten back to the regular day schedule and thus only got five hours of sleep. Right now, I'm pushing to stay awake, so I can go to bed at 9 p.m. and hopefully be able to get up at 5 a.m.. I am crabby and overwhelmed. And I just want a nap . . . but a nap means I'll stay up until 1 a.m. again. And I know who jammed the copy machine, because I had to fish out their copy remnants. I know who caused me to be Edward Yardstickhands.

Off to make more lists . . . and not sleep . . . and to get blamed for the copy machine only making one sided copies . . . because after all, I left a note with my name on it. And everything will get done. It always does. Well, everything except the vacuuming.