July 8th, 2002


Never EVER say a weekend was too long.

While waiting politely on line for the movie (rather than dickishly joining the Bermans at the front like everyone else was doing with their friends who had arrived early), we discussed how this past weekend was almost too much. We all seemed pretty tired and an odd combination of hung over and still drunk, of hungry and still full. We talked about how we hadn't stopped for four days but we knew that it was our obligation to do so. It was worth every second, sure, but it still left me a little tired all day yesterday. I'm sure that final glass of wine on top of pitchers of beer and margaritas didn't help matters anyway. While we thummbed our noses at the long weekend, suggesting that we somehow didn't need *that* much of it, I felt a twinge of fear.

Those fears came to a crashing reality this morning. Forget the ride in; it actually wasn't that bad. In the ten minutes I have been here, already I've spoken with a girl who has worked here for over six years who told me that this morning was the first time she had noticed we have an ice maker in the kitchen; overheard another guy, a 50-year-old first-time-father, talk about how smart and good his baby was during the fireworks and how smart she is for walking; and with my headphones on, am pretending to not hear the murmured plans for an impromptu meeting.
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    blah blah

Knock, knock.

Just because I am now seated in a doorless triangicle, does not mean it is by any means appropriate for you to tap me on my shoulder to get my attention.
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    angry angry