'Til The Cows Come Home

Yawnin', Stretchin', Try To Come To Life - The P.M. Session

1:46 p.m. - Got back at the desk at 1:35 and already taking my first mental break from the workload. A few things rolled across my desk while I was out but all I can think of right now are the jelly beans I picked up after Chipotle. I know the two don't compliment each other but they both make me extraordinarily happy.

2:00 p.m. - As I was initialing the report I just finished I realized that ten years ago, when I graduated college with a degree in professional homosexuality musical theater, I never would have dreamed I might know the meaning of terms such as 'cash distribution', 'capital call', 'private equity', 'escrow', or 'fair market value'. Of course, six years ago when I was still thinking about a career in performing, I never would have dreamed that I would know the feeling of the words 'health insurance' so I guess it all balances out.

2:15 p.m. - I'm about to throw up from too many jelly beans in too short a period of time.

2:33 p.m. - I think my iPod is psychic. Since deciding upon the title of this series of posts it has now played three Dolly Parton songs. Maybe my iPod is an early generation Cylon hybrid.

2:42 p.m. - Now I'm losing all of my focus. Just had to excuse myself again to check on things, so to speak. The pain - well, it's not so much pain as a constant dull throb with occasional spikes of sharp ache - has been increasing as the day has gone on. I think it's sitting in my desk chair posture for so long. I try to get up and stretch often and relieve pressure but it's not always possible. I don't like taking a pain killer while I'm working because it deprives me of attention to detail, but now I'm being thrown off anyway and I'm making errors in my work. Grrrrrr. Tomorrow can't come quickly enough. Just two more hours and I can go home and rest and take a pill if need be.

3:20 p.m. - You know what happens after you eat too many jelly beans? You come down from the high. Now I've got the shakes. People here must think I'm really fucked up. I mean, more than usual.

3:30 p.m. - I've decided to take my mind off of my physical discomfort by engaging in some wrist action. So if you need me I'll be alone in the copy room...three-hole punching the K1 forms for the underlying partnerships.

3:31 p.m. - Perverts.

3:40 p.m. - The hole punching didn't take as long as I'd hoped it would (that's what she said).

3:49 p.m. - I just got lost in melancholy remembrance while staring at a photo cube on my desk that used to belong to my father. I keep meaning to scan in the photos and blog about it. Maybe I'll take it home with me tonight and write about it this week. I miss my dad. A lot. On the day they told us he wasn't going to make it the hospital's chaplain suggested we all take a moment alone with him to say our final words while he was still able to process them. When it was my turn to go in, I gave him a big kiss and said, "I don't think you and I have any air to clear. We're good, right?" And he blinked his eyes at me as they filled with tears and nodded his head and my heart exploded. And I said, "Good, me too. I promise I'll watch after them all." And he blinked and nodded again and my heart disintegrated. I said, "Well, that didn't take long. So let me get to the really important stuff...the last time you saw it they were all still under siege on New Caprica. Well, let me tell you..." And his eyes lit up. I filled him in. That was our last one-on-one conversation. Now it's eighteen months later and a new season of Battlestar Galactica is on. I wish he were here to talk about it. Anyway, after he died, I took the photo cube (circa 1979) from his office and brought it home with me. And now it sits on my desk.

4:01 p.m. - Well, typing that little story took longer than I realized. A lot of staring off into memories in between sentences. And now we're in the last hour of the work day. Finally.

4:11 p.m. - My biggest pet peeve of the hour: People who leave used staples and paper clips lying on top of the copy machine, which later cause a jam when I need to use the damn thing. I will find you and I will hurt you.

4:29 p.m. - Call from Bob. He's just caught one of the first episodes of this season's CSI and wants to know why none of Marg Helgenberger's friends had the balls to tell her she went a little Botox-crazy. Alas, I rarely watch CSI unless I'm trying to come up with new ways to dispose of the Greek motorcyclists who frequent our block at all hours of the night. I'll probably just need to get a portable rocket launcher. I think the neighbors would be thankful anyway.

4:49 p.m. - Tried to work through an account reconciliation but either my brain has completely turned off or Microsoft Excel has developed a mind of its own and is getting a good laugh at me. K. just called and told me to rest up tonight and order out dinner tonight instead of cook (he has a seven o'clock curtain on Tuesdays so I like to have something waiting for him). But not cooking usually just means I'll have Mini-Wheats for dinner and fall asleep on the sofa until he gets home to transfer me to bed. I can live with that tonight.

4:55 p.m. - Shutting down five minutes early. Will post this on the walk to the train. Hope you've enjoyed.