I believe you have my stapler?

As it gets closer to time to leave, I am getting more stressed-out.  Last Friday, I was upset over a fight about office space.  In a nutshell, here it is:

I gave up my office at Job II.  Yes, voluntarily gave it up, in order to 'room' with...

Gah; I can barely bring myself to type it...

Sophie.

Yeah, Sophie.  Sophie needs someone to plant their hot ass in her office so that she does not lose it because she is never there.  She is never there because she has laid claim to a larger workspace in another building...yet she still wants this space because the address (with respect to listing one's current employer and so on) is more appealing.  To explain it in a really brief nutshell, it is really, really similar to a situation where Sophie can say 'I work for X', which is impressive, by virtue of the fact that she has an office in Building X when she does not in truth work there; she works at the less-prestigious Y building around the corner. 

This is very hard to explain, you'll just have to trust me. 

So I am stupid, and I agreed to help her.  Or, rather, I was conscripted...or at least pressured into doing it by someone higher-up in my program.  Let's not go into what a wuss that makes me, just accept the fact that trappings and titles do not mean a great deal to me; I just need a place to park my ass and work.  Well, on Friday I was told that I cannot move all my shit into Sophie's office.  And I was really ticked off.  I am better now.  What will happen, I do not know.  But that is what happened on Friday.

Butsoanyway.

I have almost everything taken care of, except for the actual packing.  I have reservations for Squooshable, Rhett, and Cookie to be in storage, and Mummers will come feed Romeo and Weebie and dose Romeo once a day.  I have farmed out all my crap to be handled for a little over a week, and blah, blah, blah. 

Now I am just hoping that I do not die on the fucking airplane.  Bwaah.

I hate flying, and I hate going through the airport, and I hate the TSA; they really suck.  And if they lose my luggage, I am going to go psycho.  Bastards.  I also have to remember, now that I think about it, to get the prescription my doctor gave me for Valium filled, 'cos I think my Xanax has grown too old. 

Ok; I probably need to go to sleep.