9:57 a.m. - 2004-12-06
First of all, yesterday's inner slug attack resulted in me sleeping until almost noon, right? So last night, my ass was not even close to tired. I finally managed to drift off…at 2:30. Starting time at work? 8:00. Was Loopy on time this morning? Not even close.
Plus, at about 11:30 last night, it occurred to me that I never did drop off my fucking rent check. So I had to do that this morning on the way to work. Then the parking garage was backed up. Then my morning office coffee buddy went without me. To top it all off, I have this splinter in my thumb, and despite poking and prodding, it's not going anywhere. Which means I'm going to have to play doctor in a little while, pop out the handy sewing kit in my drawer (I know, that's out of character, right? For me to be prepared for emergencies? Especially domestic-type emergencies? What can I say, sometimes you can't fix clothing problems with the stapler. Not very often, mind you, but on those rare occasions, it's good to have what you need on hand). Point is, I'm going to have to take out the splinter with a needle. Super.
Back to my original question. Every Sunday night, everyone I know is all bitchy and whiny and pissed off about having to go to work the next day. We anticipate Monday with about as much enthusiasm as we assign to phone calls from bill collectors, root canal work, or a colonoscopy. So, if we looked forward to Monday, would it still blow? Or would viewing Monday as a lovely adventure eliminate waking up late, traffic jams, and insomnia attacks Sunday night?
Somehow, I don't think so.