Oh, good morning!

Why hello sunshine! There you are! Lovely little alarm clock, I can still hear you buzzing in my brain, as I go try to pry my eyelids open. I thought I turned you off, but apparently I missed the correct button with my blind slapping.

Is it Friday yet? Please? Can it be just a little Friday? I hear they’re making a Friday After Next, for all those unanswered questions from Next Friday… put that one on my list to see opening night. What I’d really love to see opening night is Harry Potter. How geeky is that? I think I’m making plans to go post-cheese. Who’s present week is it? I don’t even know. I haven’t been shopping in so long, other than for cold medicine, I haven’t been inspired to pick anything up…but, presents are a perk and not a requirement, right? Right.

So anyway, I pry my near comatose self (from taking double the dosage of Nyquil to knock myself out) from the bed, manage to get into some clothes and head downstairs, and actually run into the Magoroni, who hasn’t left yet. I’m just the littlest bit psyched by that… I might actually be running on time today, I think. So, she leave.. I hunt down shoes, go to turn off my email and trillian at home, grab my coat, then head for the door… where I can clearly see my car is completely blocked in my “Good Samaritan Movers”… not just parked, but parked and ramp down–ready for business.

It’s fricking freezing. I’m not caffeinated. I’m already NOT anxious to get to work, but damnit I’ve gone through all this trouble, just let me out already. So I walk around the back of the truck, peek inside… it’s empty. Nobody around. Great. I start back for the apartment, then hear a door slam. Looking back, I see a big guy carrying a big box toward the truck. It’s the “good samaritan”. He loads the box, puts up the ramp and moves the truck w/o even saying hello to me. I guess since he was blocking in 6 cars at 8:30 in the morning, he figured he’d be having to move.

So now, here I am back in hell..er back at work. Strangely again, dressed somewhere between looking like a gangster or being ready for a funeral again. Already the phone is ringing with issues from my new best-est buddy-ette, Carmen, the account manager that babysits her new clients by constantly requesting just “one last thing” be changed. Someday I’m going to spell out for her what “one last thing” means and why everything she wants changed can’t be the “one last thing”. She needs to take a cue from Marc. He’s wised up. His emails often just say “More crap from Marc for you to do”. I like that. Honesty.

At some point today I am hoping JamesT will hope online and tell me where to meet him, so I can flee this place for the rest of the afternoon.