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Walking in sand, sitting on a rock

Two days into my (triumphant?) return to the Log Cabin, I have the unshakeable feeling that I'm moving excrutiatingly slowly. If stories are food, I'm accustomed to cooking a slow-simmered Sunday pot roast. Gather the information, let it build up some steam in the ol' noggin for a while, and then write, write, write. Then pop it on the table just in time for the deadline. Hmm. Mixed my metaphors. You know what I mean.

But these days, everything is fast, fast, fast. More like a gas station bag of chips than a pot roast. See something, shoot a photo, tweet it, Facebook it, throw it on the website, call it good. Done in less time than it takes me to do a satisfying interview. Gotta feed the internets. 

I'm sure pretty soon I'll shift gears and find my place in the social media whirlwind. I just need a little practice.

In other news, I have been assigned to Courtney Spradlin's former desk, and the chair she used to sit in was really uncomfortable! To me, anyway. It turns out, the chair was acquired specifically for Courtney's individual sitting needs. The HR guru overheard me saying the chair didn't feel right, and she directed me to a more comfortable one. Score! Possibly the biggest victory of the week thus far.

OK, enough complaining for one day. Thanks for your patience. Next time I'll try to give you something worth reading.

 

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