Seppuku or bust

I. Am. Mind-numbingly. Tired.

No, I’m not really gonna try to commit ritual suicide. That would take too much energy. Though, I may just end up boring myself to death. Call, call, voicemail, call, call, conversation, call… It never ends, here. And the conversations are all about how nobody has money, and budgets are being slashed, and people being let go. If I can’t make budget this month, I’m pretty sure some harsh words are going to come my way from management, too. The only mitigating factor is that nobody is really making budget, but that’s not exactly a good excuse these days.

O. and I are doing well, but seem to be in kind of a weird floating place, waiting for something to happen. We went out to a very nice dinner on Friday, but were patronized by the waiter, who I in turn patronized with a frightfully average tip. The bastard didn’t even bother asking when he had to find a substitute for the wine I ordered with dinner, he just brought it out. Now, I can’t say it wasn’t good. Rather the opposite. But it certainly wasn’t as good as the one I asked for in the first place. And the coffee! Blech. I find it funny that decent restaurants here are far more snobbish than better places in Chicago. At least there, they’d stop looking down their noses as soon as I ordered well. And poor Orpheus was a bit intimidated. Overall, I’d call it kind of a good metaphor for the place we are right now. Neither of us able to force something out that we probably need to say or do, but nothing is bad or boring. Just slightly too comfortable, and yet not.

Anyway, tonight is a night off for us, and I’m going to put a tiny meatloaf in a rammikin into my broke-ass oven (to be fixed on Thursday, thank you rental company), cook it up (or burn it, the outcome is not yet clear), and fall the h-e-double-hockey-sticks to sleep early tonight. Wish my mental health well.