Eye-Crossing Excel Extravaganza

At this moment, work is seemingly endless data entry and cross checks of reviewer data on mammoth spreadsheets. When I say mammoth, I am not exaggerating; most of my time this week has featured a spreadsheet that included row 1,059 and column AJ. This is all to ensure that when IT does its magic and makes my HQ database the be all end all of reviewer data, other banks (which will now be read only) will not be corrupted with incorrect data. So I've gotten to go row by row, column by column, making sure that addresses and contact numbers/e-mails are up-to-date and accurate.

Part of the fault is mine as I am the type A jerk off who wants to make absolutely sure that everything is 100% tip top. But who can blame me? Once this is all up and running, I will be solely responsible for the data. It is an enormously exciting prospect but it is also terrifying. They are giving me all of this responsibility, which means my hard work and diligence have not gone unnoticed and if all goes right, the possibilities are endless. I can grow the panel to accommodate and serve my company's contracts across the country. I am the expert of this particular slice of the pie as it is, and if it gets big enough and I get good enough, maybe I'll be able to move up in the company!

But what if I fuck up? What if the higher ups were wrong and I'm not that hard of a worker or that diligent? Anything that goes wrong will be my fault. What if I do grow the panel to an enormous size to accommodate new contracts (we are, after all, budgeted to grow 50% this year) and I simply can't handle it? I might let down my former boss, who I absolutely adore. I might let down contracts in satellite offices who rely on me to supply them with the information they need. I might piss off a ton of our reviewers and diminish the panel. I might prove everyone who ever had any confidence in me wrong. In sum, I might fail.

I'm exaggerating, obviously. For one, for every man in the office, there are at least 20 women, so there is no way there would be an even number of both sexes fleeing from a building under attack from flaming arrows. And two, we only have one story to our building.

But you get my point, that work has been filled with tedious, eye-crossing tasks that will culminate in an emotionally conflicting result. I sincerely hope I do well so that I can continue moving up the corporate ladder, but I am also scared shitless.

Is it any wonder that, in order to take a break and amuse myself, I look up some of our inactive reviewers who were born in the 30's and/or 20's to see if they are still alive?