I'd like to think I give off the impression of being fearless. Generally because when I pretend to be something long enough, I simply become it.

But right now I'm really scared. Scared shitless. Some things I can talk about. Some things I can't, or maybe just shouldn't.

I have a review coming up this week with my manager about my third quarter numbers - the ones that were revised down retroactively, the ones that show me missing the estimated goals by about twenty percentage points, the ones that can easily put me into bad standing with the company, especially since they throw the numbers from Q1 and Q2 into considerable question.

Also I have to complete my self-evaluation in a little over a week so that next month we can get into our yearly review. Normally these occur in January, but due to the merger they want it done before the end of the year. That has me terrified. It is quite simply for all of the reasons listed above, and because I have _NO_ recourse for saying "don't judge me by a mistake that was allowed to go unchecked for over a year." The only person who was in my corner or at least willing to lend me an ear was the nice lady in HR who will end her association with this company on Halloween. Because of the merger a lot of redundancy was found in HR and Nice HR Lady along with Nice Stock Lady and Nice Benefits/401K Man, is being let go.

I've had bizarre dreams lately. Some I can remember, some I can't. My subconcious seems to be building a nicer place for me, deep down. Or else it's that friggin depression that makes it harder to surface after a bit of sleep. The past two nights it's taken me at least two hours to fall asleep and I can't stay asleep for more than two hours. Then in the morning it takes a great deal of convincing to get up.

I woke up with distinct memories of falling in love this morning. I tried to remember as much as possible but with the barrage of news, traffic sounds and brilliant sunlight it was like trying to hold onto the fog on a windy day. I have no idea why I was trying to hold onto the dream anyway. I don't remember the person's name, and his face has almost completely eroded. I'm quite sure I've never met him, though quite possibly he's an aspect of My Molasses, or perhaps Molasses is an aspect of him. I guess it doesn't matter, really. It's like a child chasing pigeons. It makes perfect sense when you're four years old, but as an adult you watch other kids chase pigeons and think "well even if they caught one, what on earth would they do with it?"