I have a vendetta against the cleaning people. Every time they come through, they take my water glass and my coffee cup, and "wash" them. They don't put them in the dishwasher, they run a precursory sponge over them and stick them in the strainer. So they're not clean, yet I can't use them again, because they've contaminated them with germs that aren't mine. So I stick the water glass in the dishwasher and wash my coffee cup by hand. I rant about this every morning. I am fully capable of washing my own dishes. If I wanted them washed, I'd do it myself.

Last Friday was the last straw, because they cracked my mug. My Harry Potter mug. It's still usable, but there's a big crack in it, and I'm still a little miffed. So last night I put a Post-It note on my mug "Please leave my dishes". Where were my dishes this morning? In the strainer! "Cleaned!" What is ambiguous about "Please leave my dishes"? I found the note on my table, which is about five feet from my desk, so I know they had to have seen it. Bastards. This is war.

My finner is a little better this morning. I still can't grip very well, but I got sympathy from Mommy last night, so that helped bunches.

Speaking of family, we found out yesterday that my uncle, who has the same type of leukemia that Grandpa died from, has to start chemotherapy within the year, and they were hoping he wouldn't have to start for another 2-3 years. Your prayers would be appreciated.

And this one's for Chelsea:

Which Angel: the series Character Are You?
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