It's turn the clocks ahead one hour night. I usually hate this night. Because, while I love me some daylight, I also love me some sleep. When I was growing up as a kid, my dad and I had an inside joke. He would come to wake me up five minutes before I needed to get up. And when he did, I'd always beg for "magic minutes." Which was the low-tech version of the snooze alarm. But that's how much sleep meant to me - magic.
Now I'm older. But I still love sleep. And now that I've started having amazingly vivid dreams if and when I do sleep, I like it that much more.
But tonight, it seems that's not gonna happen. I've watched a movie, listened to old 80s tunes, cooked up some veggies that were about to spoil and even caught up on some overdue email. nd yet, here it is, almost 6 (but really five) and I'm wide awake wilson.
My new hire starts on Monday and I really must be on my A Game for that. Especially given all the specialness that has ensued and will likely continue to ensue over the coming weeks. So an all-nighter wasn't really in the cards. But, I guess you play the cards as the Universe deals them.
Did have a really solid interaction with the roommate though tonight. I think the problem is that 1) neither of us seems to be really good with confrontation and 2) we're both feeling a bit awkward about where we are in our lives. I'm in a period of recover after a massively long bout with all sorts of notwellness. Although I still have a long way to go - and not stopping at Kappys on the way home was a step in the right direction! - I see the light at the end of the proverbial tunnel. I can't speak for him, having little to no knowledg of his life or habits, much less his inner turmoil. But I suspect he's also dealing with some stuff. So maybe - and now's probably not the time to reach a hard and fast conclusion - but maybe it's worth he and I sitting down and having an actual conversation. Otherwise, the awkwardness might fester. And that's never a good thing...
Anyway, I digress. The topic at hand was sleep - or the lack thereof. I really really want to get some quality R&R. But how do you turn off the brain when it's churning like this? It's not like I'm suffering under any delusion that getting work done at 6 am on a Sunday will be of a high calibre. So, perhaps, I take a few deep breaths. Break out my notepad and make a PLAN for the work I'm going to accomplish tomorrow.
Once the Ambien wears off. If it ever kicks in.
Sheesh - this stuff killed Heath Ledger and it doesn't even touch me. I've either got way too much Anna's Taqueria Super Grlled Veggie in my system or I'm Batman. What do you think?
Showing posts with label Losers' Club. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Losers' Club. Show all posts
Sunday, March 14, 2010
Thursday, January 21, 2010
Part Two, which is less amusing
So, I am having a good laugh about my Losers' Club day. One must realize, at this point, that I kind of revel in Losers' Club stories. They're Seinfeld-esque, they're David Sedaris-esque, they give me fodder for which I can utter the words (in true sincerity) "...mynovel's gonna be great!"
So, I relate the story to BFF, she loves it. I relate it to ChirpBoy, he loves it. We laugh, we share. Alls good. I get home, I get settled, I'm about to go to sleep and realize my brain is racing. No biggie - I just so happen to be in the middle of a trashy, vampire smut novel. (I alternate, thought-provoking book/junkfood book/thought-provoking book/junkfood book. Keeps me balanced.)
I'm in bed, quietly reading, when my roomie decides to start having sex with his "not girlfriend." I kid you not. Ever seen Secret of My Success?
Amidst all of this, GoodBuddy texts me. He's in "a mood." There's been a lot of this lately. I know he reads my blog and he's sure to argue, but it's true. Whereas he used to be mostly carefree and happy-go, now he's mostly serious, pensive and, above all, domineering. No more the silly laughter, now it's all "this is how it is and this is what I'm planning and you need to do this and you should feel this and this or that needs to happen." It really does make me sad sometimes.
So, yes, I was tired and cranky and probably a little ticked that my roommate was having sex and the last time I'd had sex was a long time ago (sorry, TMI but still). In the interest of full disclosure, I was also a bit ... tipsy. During the conversatin, I began to relate my Losers' Club story. I'll admit I could have been sounding bitchy to the outside ear - but boy oh boy did GB get all up in my grill.
In short: I'm better than that. I still have a job. I'm not stuck in Haiti. I'm above this bitching and whining. I need to get over myself.You don't get to feel sorry for yourself. Fucking man up.
Basically telling me the exact same message that I've been dealing with my whole life: my feelings aren't valid, they're "too much", my experience of the world isn't legit and I should feel shame for that.
(Thank you, yes, I did have therapy today. I heart it.)
So, I got upset. No. Strike that. I got fucking pissed off as shit. I wanted a friend. Someone to commiserate with, to laugh with. To understand that, yes, I'd had a shitty day. No, it wasn't the worst day in the world and I realized I wasn't dying of cancer or getting fired or living through devastation or elsewise having a life-shattering event. But, it had in fact been garden variety shitty day. And, geez, only me...
The net/net is that I'm still thinking he and I are not on the same page about this, or to be honest, much, these days. And as much as he wants to protest, I think a large part of it is the place he's in and not the place I'm in. Although, yes, of course, everything is in mutuality and relation. But I think that the path I'm on - and have been working towards - is telling me that voice inside my head that says, "fuck you, my feelings count" is the right voice to listen to. Because I am NOT striving to be some superhuman-Buddha-Guru-Englightened-Omniscient Being. I just want to BE. Utterly and essentially, be a human being. A me-flavored human popsicle. I'd be perfectly and amazingly content with that.
So there.
So, I relate the story to BFF, she loves it. I relate it to ChirpBoy, he loves it. We laugh, we share. Alls good. I get home, I get settled, I'm about to go to sleep and realize my brain is racing. No biggie - I just so happen to be in the middle of a trashy, vampire smut novel. (I alternate, thought-provoking book/junkfood book/thought-provoking book/junkfood book. Keeps me balanced.)
I'm in bed, quietly reading, when my roomie decides to start having sex with his "not girlfriend." I kid you not. Ever seen Secret of My Success?
Amidst all of this, GoodBuddy texts me. He's in "a mood." There's been a lot of this lately. I know he reads my blog and he's sure to argue, but it's true. Whereas he used to be mostly carefree and happy-go, now he's mostly serious, pensive and, above all, domineering. No more the silly laughter, now it's all "this is how it is and this is what I'm planning and you need to do this and you should feel this and this or that needs to happen." It really does make me sad sometimes.
So, yes, I was tired and cranky and probably a little ticked that my roommate was having sex and the last time I'd had sex was a long time ago (sorry, TMI but still). In the interest of full disclosure, I was also a bit ... tipsy. During the conversatin, I began to relate my Losers' Club story. I'll admit I could have been sounding bitchy to the outside ear - but boy oh boy did GB get all up in my grill.
In short: I'm better than that. I still have a job. I'm not stuck in Haiti. I'm above this bitching and whining. I need to get over myself.You don't get to feel sorry for yourself. Fucking man up.
Basically telling me the exact same message that I've been dealing with my whole life: my feelings aren't valid, they're "too much", my experience of the world isn't legit and I should feel shame for that.
(Thank you, yes, I did have therapy today. I heart it.)
So, I got upset. No. Strike that. I got fucking pissed off as shit. I wanted a friend. Someone to commiserate with, to laugh with. To understand that, yes, I'd had a shitty day. No, it wasn't the worst day in the world and I realized I wasn't dying of cancer or getting fired or living through devastation or elsewise having a life-shattering event. But, it had in fact been garden variety shitty day. And, geez, only me...
The net/net is that I'm still thinking he and I are not on the same page about this, or to be honest, much, these days. And as much as he wants to protest, I think a large part of it is the place he's in and not the place I'm in. Although, yes, of course, everything is in mutuality and relation. But I think that the path I'm on - and have been working towards - is telling me that voice inside my head that says, "fuck you, my feelings count" is the right voice to listen to. Because I am NOT striving to be some superhuman-Buddha-Guru-Englightened-Omniscient Being. I just want to BE. Utterly and essentially, be a human being. A me-flavored human popsicle. I'd be perfectly and amazingly content with that.
So there.
A Tale in Two Parts
So, I have yet another tale to tell. This one will be in two parts. One happy. One not so much. Such is life.
So, yesterday, I had a total Losers' Club day.
Started off with a 7:30 am conference call, taken on the 7:33 train into Boston (express from Salem!).
Two hour meeting with CBL to go through budgets, punctuated about every 20 minutes with her telling me wildly inappropriate stories about my coworkers and her boss.
Then, the fit really hit the shan. We - make that I - needed to pull together materials for an upcoming "train the trainers" event happening in Mexico next week. Basically, we need to teach people how to teach people who teach people. There will be 20 of these "Master Trainers" in attendance. I had to create ONE folder for all of the trainers to use during their training and ONE sample folder of all of the materials they would be handing out when they actually started training people themselves. The problem is, a lot of the documents were duplicates. And some looked only very slightly different. It has to get to MX by Saturday so it HAD to leave yesterday. It was an operational nightmare.
So, I'm in the midst of all of this chaos, documents piling up around me, the phone ringing off the hook, me walking miles in circles around my cube (in heels because "sneakers are inappropriate workplace attire) putting together packets of information... At one point CBL comes in to ask me, "um, what's the name of the marketing platform we use again?" I was at that very moment on the phone with one of my copy/print companies telling them they produced 2x as many of one doc we needed and none of another doc we needed. I looked at ye olde CBL and nearly screamed. "Um. Can't do this now. Sorry. No." And turned back to my phonecall.
Later, I did actually her office, armpit sweat-stained and hair disheveled to answer her question (whilst waiting for alluded to document arriving). This must have kicked in the guilt genome because a few minutes later, she came over to my office, leaned in the doorway and casually asked (as I wore treads into the carpet) "anything I can do to help?" Um, yea. Join the assembly line, bitch.
OK, so, finally I get it all done, boxed up and ready to go. Oh yea - the mailroom guys are all new so I have absolutely no confidence at all that it's going to get there on time. But que sera sera.
I missed the 6:30 train, no matter, I'll catch up on email. Ten minutes to 7 - before the lights go out and the cockroaches come out - I left the building. I hoof it to the train station, stopping in at a nearby burrito joint on the way to get a veggie burrito to go.
The guy behind me orders a chicken burrito and we kill the more than 10 minutes waiting making small talk about the crazy weather, the election, and the earthquake relief efforts.
I get to the train station, tired, cranky, dissheveled and hungry. I unwrap my burrito and take a huge, honkin bite.
It's the chicken burrito.
I barely make it to the public bathroom in time to vomit and then begin dry heaving. Have I mentioned, the last time I ate meat was almost 20 years ago and the meal that turned me was chicken?
So, yes, folks, that was my day. I finally made it home, 14 and a half hours after leaving it. I was cranky, I was clammy, I was hungry, I was tired, and I was sore. But, it also gave me the best line of the year.
Me to BFF: "I have to tell you my Losers' Club story. I swear, I think I had a worse day than Martha Coakley."
BFF to me: "Niiiiiiiice!"
So, yesterday, I had a total Losers' Club day.
Started off with a 7:30 am conference call, taken on the 7:33 train into Boston (express from Salem!).
Two hour meeting with CBL to go through budgets, punctuated about every 20 minutes with her telling me wildly inappropriate stories about my coworkers and her boss.
Then, the fit really hit the shan. We - make that I - needed to pull together materials for an upcoming "train the trainers" event happening in Mexico next week. Basically, we need to teach people how to teach people who teach people. There will be 20 of these "Master Trainers" in attendance. I had to create ONE folder for all of the trainers to use during their training and ONE sample folder of all of the materials they would be handing out when they actually started training people themselves. The problem is, a lot of the documents were duplicates. And some looked only very slightly different. It has to get to MX by Saturday so it HAD to leave yesterday. It was an operational nightmare.
So, I'm in the midst of all of this chaos, documents piling up around me, the phone ringing off the hook, me walking miles in circles around my cube (in heels because "sneakers are inappropriate workplace attire) putting together packets of information... At one point CBL comes in to ask me, "um, what's the name of the marketing platform we use again?" I was at that very moment on the phone with one of my copy/print companies telling them they produced 2x as many of one doc we needed and none of another doc we needed. I looked at ye olde CBL and nearly screamed. "Um. Can't do this now. Sorry. No." And turned back to my phonecall.
Later, I did actually her office, armpit sweat-stained and hair disheveled to answer her question (whilst waiting for alluded to document arriving). This must have kicked in the guilt genome because a few minutes later, she came over to my office, leaned in the doorway and casually asked (as I wore treads into the carpet) "anything I can do to help?" Um, yea. Join the assembly line, bitch.
OK, so, finally I get it all done, boxed up and ready to go. Oh yea - the mailroom guys are all new so I have absolutely no confidence at all that it's going to get there on time. But que sera sera.
I missed the 6:30 train, no matter, I'll catch up on email. Ten minutes to 7 - before the lights go out and the cockroaches come out - I left the building. I hoof it to the train station, stopping in at a nearby burrito joint on the way to get a veggie burrito to go.
The guy behind me orders a chicken burrito and we kill the more than 10 minutes waiting making small talk about the crazy weather, the election, and the earthquake relief efforts.
I get to the train station, tired, cranky, dissheveled and hungry. I unwrap my burrito and take a huge, honkin bite.
It's the chicken burrito.
I barely make it to the public bathroom in time to vomit and then begin dry heaving. Have I mentioned, the last time I ate meat was almost 20 years ago and the meal that turned me was chicken?
So, yes, folks, that was my day. I finally made it home, 14 and a half hours after leaving it. I was cranky, I was clammy, I was hungry, I was tired, and I was sore. But, it also gave me the best line of the year.
Me to BFF: "I have to tell you my Losers' Club story. I swear, I think I had a worse day than Martha Coakley."
BFF to me: "Niiiiiiiice!"
Monday, November 16, 2009
The Day That Was
Overslept.
Meant to leave work early to go to yoga.
Massive headache. Massive muscle aches. Skipped yoga.
Tried to 'pop into the Post Office" on my way to the train. Post Office had moved.
First day in new Post Office meant a line out the door of people trying to get their new boxes.
I missed my train.
Somewhere around here my chest started hurting. Maybe from the 30 pound laptop/backpack slung over my shoulder?
I stopped at WholePaycheck for a healthy dinner. Cashier (Devin) was too busy chatting w/ his friend to bag the food from the salad bar that actually constituted my dinner. There's $10 down the drain.
CBL calls me while I'm hoofing it to the train. "Can I call you back?" She gets annoyed. Then, when I do call her back, she spends 20 minutes of my trainride bitching about her boss. Inappropriate much?
The train I wound up catching had a transfer at Beverly Station. My connecting train was late.
On my way home, I called Yangs for some chow foon, the wheaty, thick warm pasta being the only thing I could contemplate soothing my nerves and my rough throat. (I'm worried I'm getting swine flu but I realize I'm being a hypochondriac and manifesting symptoms). They're out of chow foon.
BUT - I got home. In one piece. GB called to "tuck me in." And now, all I need is two kittens to jump up on the beddy and it will all be okay. Because tomorrow's anotherday.
Meant to leave work early to go to yoga.
Massive headache. Massive muscle aches. Skipped yoga.
Tried to 'pop into the Post Office" on my way to the train. Post Office had moved.
First day in new Post Office meant a line out the door of people trying to get their new boxes.
I missed my train.
Somewhere around here my chest started hurting. Maybe from the 30 pound laptop/backpack slung over my shoulder?
I stopped at WholePaycheck for a healthy dinner. Cashier (Devin) was too busy chatting w/ his friend to bag the food from the salad bar that actually constituted my dinner. There's $10 down the drain.
CBL calls me while I'm hoofing it to the train. "Can I call you back?" She gets annoyed. Then, when I do call her back, she spends 20 minutes of my trainride bitching about her boss. Inappropriate much?
The train I wound up catching had a transfer at Beverly Station. My connecting train was late.
On my way home, I called Yangs for some chow foon, the wheaty, thick warm pasta being the only thing I could contemplate soothing my nerves and my rough throat. (I'm worried I'm getting swine flu but I realize I'm being a hypochondriac and manifesting symptoms). They're out of chow foon.
BUT - I got home. In one piece. GB called to "tuck me in." And now, all I need is two kittens to jump up on the beddy and it will all be okay. Because tomorrow's anotherday.
Wednesday, October 14, 2009
Following the rules?
Another Amtrak trip - yippee for Guest Rewards Double Miles! At this rate, the trip home for Turkey Day will be free.
Of course, leave it to me to set up shop in the Quiet Car without realizing it. And so, I whip out my phone and proceed to conduct business.
Well, it hadn't been a full minute before some woman marched herself right up to me to inform me, there are NO cellphones to be used. No Cellphones! (You can yell and whisper at the same time, I now know.) Well, I apologized effusively and hung up promptly. I've been quiet the entire remainder of the trip. (Mark the date!)
This, of course, does not seem to disturb the woman behind me who has prattled on incessantly the entire journey about work, life, love, college, drinking, sluts, bimbos, dinner plans,...
No one is yelling at her. Is it because she's not on the phone? Does talking on the phone break the quiet car rules more than having inane conversations with your seatmate? Sheesh!
To be fair, the lovely woman sitting across from me (she likes my Eat More Kale t-shirt!) keeps rolling her eyes at our audible companion as well.
On the way home, I'll make sure I sit in the Loud Car. All this silence i driving me crazy...
Of course, leave it to me to set up shop in the Quiet Car without realizing it. And so, I whip out my phone and proceed to conduct business.
Well, it hadn't been a full minute before some woman marched herself right up to me to inform me, there are NO cellphones to be used. No Cellphones! (You can yell and whisper at the same time, I now know.) Well, I apologized effusively and hung up promptly. I've been quiet the entire remainder of the trip. (Mark the date!)
This, of course, does not seem to disturb the woman behind me who has prattled on incessantly the entire journey about work, life, love, college, drinking, sluts, bimbos, dinner plans,...
No one is yelling at her. Is it because she's not on the phone? Does talking on the phone break the quiet car rules more than having inane conversations with your seatmate? Sheesh!
To be fair, the lovely woman sitting across from me (she likes my Eat More Kale t-shirt!) keeps rolling her eyes at our audible companion as well.
On the way home, I'll make sure I sit in the Loud Car. All this silence i driving me crazy...
Wednesday, September 09, 2009
Special Levels of Cluelessness
It's true that CBL has been getting less crazy. Although, that might be only because I worked from home all last week with the fractured rib. Still, she does seem to be on a more even keel.
But never fear. CBL remains an apt and appropriate name. C for crazy. C for clueless. You be the judge.
Today, she came by my cube round about 4:30. I was typing away. She informed me she'd be "dashing out early" to get a "ManiPedi." Great, I said. Have fun.
"Hey," she asked me. "Is somthing wrong? You seem kind of quiet today."
"Yeah, well, I'm in pain."
"Why? What happened?"
"Um, I broke my rib. (???)"
"Oh, that still hurts?"
Like I said, a whol special level of cluelessness.
But never fear. CBL remains an apt and appropriate name. C for crazy. C for clueless. You be the judge.
Today, she came by my cube round about 4:30. I was typing away. She informed me she'd be "dashing out early" to get a "ManiPedi." Great, I said. Have fun.
"Hey," she asked me. "Is somthing wrong? You seem kind of quiet today."
"Yeah, well, I'm in pain."
"Why? What happened?"
"Um, I broke my rib. (???)"
"Oh, that still hurts?"
Like I said, a whol special level of cluelessness.
Monday, August 31, 2009
Ouch
In typical Only Me fashion - I have cracked a rib. So much for getting back onto the healthy horse - I can't breathe much less work out right now.
I think this is what pain feels like. Mommy! Someone maternal!
I think this is what pain feels like. Mommy! Someone maternal!
Thursday, August 20, 2009
Yet again, only me
It's been a rough few weeks. I should have been posting but I just haven't had the energy or motivation...
I am going to be very honest with you, my readers. Here's the deal. I am depressed.
I don't mean that I have the blues or that I've been in the dumps or that things haven't been going according to plan. I mean depressed. Clinical. Biological.
I have enough family medical history to know the difference between having a bad couple of days and having your brain chemistry be off. And as much as I hate to admit it or give in to it, I think my brain chemistry is off.
I went 10 days with no booze, nine yoga classes, lots of meditation, beaucoup de journalling and a fair amount of energy work. And I still wound up laying in bed wondering if my generous life insurance policy was still effectiive in cases of suicide. Not that I want to kill myself. I'm just checking, is all...
Today, the amazing wonderful therapist confirmed that maybe looking into meds wouldn't be the worst thing in the world. Conveniently, I have a doctor's appt tomorrow.
The ironic thing about all of this is - I had an AMAZING day with Good Buddy today. We went to the beach. We played in the water. We were goofy and fun and didn't dwell on the painful shit in either of our lives. We just enjoyed each other. Also, a friend from Philly visited and we had a great night. Not the best conversation of all time (Ralph, take note, you still win!) but good. A balanced, happy, centered human being would feel good about this. Point made.
So, yes, only me. I see all of the things that are happening that should make me happy. And I want to be happy. So desperately. So vigilantly.. But, right now I am afraid it just ain't happening.
I am going to be very honest with you, my readers. Here's the deal. I am depressed.
I don't mean that I have the blues or that I've been in the dumps or that things haven't been going according to plan. I mean depressed. Clinical. Biological.
I have enough family medical history to know the difference between having a bad couple of days and having your brain chemistry be off. And as much as I hate to admit it or give in to it, I think my brain chemistry is off.
I went 10 days with no booze, nine yoga classes, lots of meditation, beaucoup de journalling and a fair amount of energy work. And I still wound up laying in bed wondering if my generous life insurance policy was still effectiive in cases of suicide. Not that I want to kill myself. I'm just checking, is all...
Today, the amazing wonderful therapist confirmed that maybe looking into meds wouldn't be the worst thing in the world. Conveniently, I have a doctor's appt tomorrow.
The ironic thing about all of this is - I had an AMAZING day with Good Buddy today. We went to the beach. We played in the water. We were goofy and fun and didn't dwell on the painful shit in either of our lives. We just enjoyed each other. Also, a friend from Philly visited and we had a great night. Not the best conversation of all time (Ralph, take note, you still win!) but good. A balanced, happy, centered human being would feel good about this. Point made.
So, yes, only me. I see all of the things that are happening that should make me happy. And I want to be happy. So desperately. So vigilantly.. But, right now I am afraid it just ain't happening.
Friday, July 10, 2009
Only Me
I can't go in to details here, for reasons that are abundantly clear to the very select few and far between individuals in my life that know the whole and all of all of my stories.
But I will say this --- only me.
If you ever think you have a story inside of you, just wait. Cuz the shit that happens to me just can't be written and believed.
All of that said, I am so on the side of The Universe right now, it's ridonkulous. Just like Sisyphus, I am happy.
But I will say this --- only me.
If you ever think you have a story inside of you, just wait. Cuz the shit that happens to me just can't be written and believed.
All of that said, I am so on the side of The Universe right now, it's ridonkulous. Just like Sisyphus, I am happy.
Thursday, June 11, 2009
If this were a short story, it would be funny, poignant...
So, last Saturday, I dropped the car off at the service repair shop. I convinced a dear friend to pick me up at the shop and take me out for the day. All of this happened before 9 am. ON A SATURDAY.
I dropped the car off. I left the shop. I got to a coffee shop. My phone rang.
They had the wrong color replacement mirror.
I bitched and moaned and shrieked and wailed. And, at the end of the day, I wound up shuffling around my schedule to get back to the shop. I gave up my work from home day and made it a work from the car shop day.
Which was today.
An hour and a half into my waiting time, I felt a tap on my shoulder. "Um, Miss Miller?"
This time, they'd ordered the wrong size.
What was miraculous about all of this: I did NOT flip out. I did NOT scream. I did NOT get mad. I DID laugh. A lot. Out loud.
What are you going to do? They didn't have the mirror. I couldn't make them have the mirror. The woman who was helping me was not at fault. And she was cute. And she caught my dropped hint that this weekend was Pride Weekend in Boston. (Ding ding ding ding). This now means I will be forced (ha!) to not go into the office for either a morning or a day. And, of course, it means that they're going to eat the labor costs.
So, every cloud, silver lining, yadda yadda yadda. It still means I have to spend ANOTHER day in the waiting room of a car service shop. Fun.
I dropped the car off. I left the shop. I got to a coffee shop. My phone rang.
They had the wrong color replacement mirror.
I bitched and moaned and shrieked and wailed. And, at the end of the day, I wound up shuffling around my schedule to get back to the shop. I gave up my work from home day and made it a work from the car shop day.
Which was today.
An hour and a half into my waiting time, I felt a tap on my shoulder. "Um, Miss Miller?"
This time, they'd ordered the wrong size.
What was miraculous about all of this: I did NOT flip out. I did NOT scream. I did NOT get mad. I DID laugh. A lot. Out loud.
What are you going to do? They didn't have the mirror. I couldn't make them have the mirror. The woman who was helping me was not at fault. And she was cute. And she caught my dropped hint that this weekend was Pride Weekend in Boston. (Ding ding ding ding). This now means I will be forced (ha!) to not go into the office for either a morning or a day. And, of course, it means that they're going to eat the labor costs.
So, every cloud, silver lining, yadda yadda yadda. It still means I have to spend ANOTHER day in the waiting room of a car service shop. Fun.
Friday, May 29, 2009
Losers Club Tries to Fake Not Being Hung Over
So, last night I should have been being a good girl. I mean, I had it all planned. I was going to head home on the 5:45 train. Have a quiet night, maybe take a bath, enjoy a home cooked meal, read some more of the "Meditations on the Buddha Tara" - which has been very helpful with dealing with my whole CBL stress...
And then GoodBuddy called.
I resisted at first. I even got passive-aggressively bitter. Because I had been thinking happy and healthy. And then I realized that - yea, I've got no control when it comes to him and, yea, well, it was going to be a night of general debauchery.
And, so it was.
So, this morning, as I was trying my damnedest to get to work on time and not seem like I was completely puffy (more on that later) and wasted, I grabbed a cab at NorthStation to cut down on commute time.
And my damn cabbie was so eager to get me to Copley Square that he ran two red lights.
And got caught.
And got pulled over.
And got a ticket.
I was about 20 minutes late picking up my colleague who's visiting from London. And, yea, she probably noticed my bleary eyes.
Way to have a healthy, quiet, relaxing, yogafied night.
And then GoodBuddy called.
I resisted at first. I even got passive-aggressively bitter. Because I had been thinking happy and healthy. And then I realized that - yea, I've got no control when it comes to him and, yea, well, it was going to be a night of general debauchery.
And, so it was.
So, this morning, as I was trying my damnedest to get to work on time and not seem like I was completely puffy (more on that later) and wasted, I grabbed a cab at NorthStation to cut down on commute time.
And my damn cabbie was so eager to get me to Copley Square that he ran two red lights.
And got caught.
And got pulled over.
And got a ticket.
I was about 20 minutes late picking up my colleague who's visiting from London. And, yea, she probably noticed my bleary eyes.
Way to have a healthy, quiet, relaxing, yogafied night.
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