Wow, it has almost been a month since I have posted. What is up with that? I can report that I still do have a soul, despite several weeks working the front desk at the Alley theatre. I know I talk a lot of smack about how much I hate it, AND I DO, but I should also be grateful for having this opportunity to make some extra money and not have to do anything at all. I can say all of this now, because my latest tenure here will end on March 5th.

Commence dance of joy…….. now.

My friends and I have thrown some money into the pot and are betting each other who can lose the most weight over the next six months. There are four of us and at first we were playing every man for himself. That didn’t work out, so now we are in teams of two. Everything is going fine except for one thing: I cannot get out of bed in the mornings. I am really starting to believe that there is something seriously wrong with me; either physically or mentally. You know how some people can get up in the morning and maybe hit the snooze bar once. They then get out of the bed and yawn and stretch a little. They are up and ready for the day. This is not me. I hit the snooze bar about 15 times. When I finally get my eyes open, I say several curse words before throwing the covers back. I sit up and I feel like I have been hit by a truck; never have I felt rested and excited about the day ahead. I stumble around, finally getting to the shower. Then, it is rush rush rush because by this point I am late. I am always late for work. Always.

Nobody is allowed to talk to me until after 10:00a.m. My roommate, little Miss Mary Sunshine in the mornings, has not really ever learned this rule. Some days, I wait in my room waiting for him to leave just so I don’t have to talk to him, see him, or hear him talk. I want to kill people in the morning. He made the mistake and saying to me a few days ago, “Mornin’ Sunshine!” I almost hit him. Instead, I went into the kitchen and made some oatmeal using up all the remaining milk. Then, I watched him as he poured himself this heaping bowl of Special K cereal, sprinkled on some Splenda sweetener, and reached into the fridge for the milk. I silently ate my oatmeal. He turned and said, “You Bitch. You could have told me we were out of milk. I just giggled inside and walked off

Even the people at work have learned this rule. Nobody at work talks to me until I talk to them first. It’s funny I guess.

Bottomline, why am I this way? Do I have sleep apnea? Is my mattress not soft enough? Maybe it is all psychological. Maybe I am just a lazy fucking idiot. Whatever the reason, I want it to stop.