I feel like I’m about to drop in an exhausted heap underneath my desk at any moment…and it’s only Tuesday. This is not a good sign. My pseudo-chipper façade is starting to deteriorate, and I fear that by the end of the week my co-workers will soon discover the dark, mildewed, and rotten reality that is my mood these days.

Ah well. Couldn’t hide it forever.

Haven’t written anything since Friday and I’m having some trouble piecing the last four days together. Friday night I again experienced the Joys of Serving. It was a long, busy night. I think the cold that I’m still trying to shake off began to show itself this night. Friday night was also one of the coldest nights in recent history. I walked to my car at about 1 am and thought that the skin on my face was going to freeze and shatter. Then I almost ran out of gas on the freeway and had visions of myself dying a very cold death trying to walk to a gas station with no winter coat. The death scene was pretty vivid in my mind. That’s what 16-hour workdays will do to you, I suppose.

Saturday I lounged around on my couch all morning until work again at 4:30. Luckily I was an expo (got to stand on the line and organize food with tickets...no running around to be dealt with...fat hourly wage...happiness ensued).

Then Sunday I awoke to one of the greatest miracles to be had in Cleveland in February. Sunlight. The temp probably wasn't much higher than 30ish, but it felt like heaven. Jessica and I broke our usual Sunday morning routine of greasy breakfast at Gus’s and headed to a newer restaurant for lunch. After that I decided to drive around with my new shades on (rose-colored, of course!) and try to find an open carwash. I was unsuccessful, and you have no idea how hard it is driving around on a sunny day, blasting the radio, trying like hell to see the road through my lovely salt-crusted windshield. I gave up and went to the grocery store instead. The sun must've made me high or something so by the time I got home, I couldn't clean like I intended, and instead opted to blast music and dance around the house for about an hour or so. Yeah...if anyone was peeking through the windows they had one hell of a laugh!

I quickly got bored and decided to hit the bookstore to pick up a few trashy vacation reads. My plans were quickly derailed when I spotted the ho-ho-hotttttt guy standing behind the customer service desk. I almost tripped over myself and fell flat on my face in my flustered state. You know the type...tall and lanky...messy, unkept hair....stubble....intellectual type....and cute as heck! Well...I couldn't let him see me with trashy chic lit now could I? No...instead I flipped through Italo Calvino, Virginia Woolf, and...horror of all horrors...David Foster Wallace. Am I a total poseur or what? I have no shame. I did, however, look through the outdoor magazine section, searching for something else to pretend to be fascinated with while sneaking peeks at His Handsomeness. Now that I think about it, I should've picked up some Kerouac. I bet you he's into that. So...moving on. I bought two of the stupid books and got the hell away from the Hot Man Who Was Clouding My Judgement. Hmm... I'll need to think of an excuse to go there again next weekend.

Let’s see, then there was yesterday. Uneventful day at work, then darts last night at the glorious Valley Tavern. We won, 9 games to 4, but we should’ve taken them all. I was pissed that I lost my singles cricket game…I was kicking her ass and playing a fair, clean game without scoring unnecessary points when this chick pulls three fliers out of her you know where and hits three trips. She got me by one dart. I was pissed. The bar kind of sucks, but I was happy with the fact that for the third Monday night in a row I didn’t drink. Go me! I do hate going to bars that have lame jukeboxes, however. The one last night was a nightmare. I kept playing The Clash, Elvis Costello, BNL, Black Sabbath, and Tom Petty just to prevent anymore songs with good ol’ country boys singing about loving bars…or better yet…the best song I heard that night with a chorus that began with, “I want a rich, dumb, young nymphomaniac…when she’s not on her knees she’ll be on her back.” What the…? God that’s tacky.

As for today, I’ll probably be working about 14-16 hours, same tomorrow. Something’s totally going on here and I don’t know what it is. A friend of mine won’t tell me because she wants me to find out and be surprised/shocked/annoyed/what have you. Only thing is that the suspense is making me sick to my stomach. So anyway…here’s to my third straight 70-hour workweek!