Sunday, July 22, 2007

In which Poppy takes quill in hand, and writes

I'm about to start writing a report for the annual meeting of a non-profit on the fundraiser I recently chaired for them. We raised a record-breaking amount of money. In your face, doubters and nay-sayers! Because I'm pretty good at raising money.

What I'm not so good at is making nice. Right now I have to try to remember the name of every single person who did anything to contribute to the event. And I will be sure to miss a few, because I am forgetful, and I don't know--someone who donated $5,000 is just somehow easier to remember than someone who donated some used object to the silent auction that didn't end up selling. But charity work being what it is, you just know that the $5,000 person won't care about being mentioned, and the used items person will care deeply. And will then go around behind my back whining about how her efforts weren't appreciated enough.

Well, Jimmy crack corn, and I don't care. But I do care that stupidly, I came downtown with my laptop but without my power cord. So here I am typing away at a desktop--that doesn't have a printer. I can't print. And so my report will be hand-written.

HAND-WRITTEN, people. Inaccurate, incomplete, pissing people off, and HAND-WRITTEN.

Have I told you lately how much I love you, internet, in all your typed beauty?

OK, gotta go forget some people.

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