Helllooo, Friday.
Yesterday is over.

I went to bed at 7:30 after talking with my good friend from high school who called me out of the blue from London. Then I read and went to sleep while it was still light out.

I think that generally, I made sense on the phone to my friend, but prior to that, the entire day managed to play itself out in a punch-drunk haze, topped off with the realization that I’d locked myself out of my car at work.

Moreover, and over and over, this week is d-u-n. I’d like to take this opportunity to lock it away in the archives o’ life, because other than a few lurvely hours Wednesday night, it’s been a miasma of stress and exhaustion. My roommates are on spring break from their teaching jobs and are frolicking nonstop friends visiting from out of town, which only underscores the pathetic feel of my existence in sharp relief. I trudge to bed at 9:00 each night, and when I finally get up at midnight from Shift #1 of tossing and turning, they’re on Round Two of mojitos and ice cream
and mariachi bands and fireworks and Kennywood. I grab their rum bottle and take a swig before returning to my sad, quiet bedroom.

Moreover, they’ve decided to stop stressing about their jobs they hate. They’re quitting them to pick up and move to the southwest in July. And good for them, right? But still, some petulant part of me feels whinier than ever, now that
I’m the lone torch-bearer of career/future-related angst in our house since everyone else has gone on vacation. And it’s fricking heavy.