I get around, get around woo ooo I get around

All day long, I have been running.

Like Eliza Dushku in the ill-fated Tru Calling, I run, and I run, and then I run some more.

Power naps at 7:30am are never a good idea.

Deadlines should be extended when everything is broken.

I am now a full-fledged volunteer at the hospital. After dashing home to pick up the paperwork I'd forgotten this morning, running to one building to get the results of my TB test (negative!) and then running to another building so a HOT security guard could take a picture of me, disguised as a 300 pound woman with no blood in her face, I now have my very own hospital ID badge. I'm on call for the first time tonight as a rape crisis volunteer. I'm scared shitless and don't know what to wear.

Some folks on the corner of 34th St. and Broadway are not very happy about Mel Gibson's latest, and believe Jesus to be gay.

I thought about telling the guy with the headphones on the 14th St. platform that he was, in fact, singing quite loud. I'm not sure he knew. Instead I just giggled.

After work, I'm going to the gym to get on a treadmill and run some more.

Every time I see pudding now, I think of semen. I'm pretty sure there is no pudding in my immediate future.

And that, in a nutshell, is just how frazzled I am right now.