Control

Flipping through channels last night, I came across "Control". Whether or not you are familiar with or a fan of Joy Division, this is a must-see. The performances are astounding. The actors learned to play their instruments and sing, so the performances aren't dubbed. They are sublime.

This is the tragic story of a talented man, a short life, and an enduring impact. Put it on your Netflix. Set it on your TiVo. Do not miss this cinematic gem. That's an order.



Control itself is a funny thing. We lose it, give it up, or it ends up making us freaks. It's something you love (when you have it) or hate (when it's out of your hands or lorded over you). It's one of my favorite things. It's also something I'm learning to let go of. But, even that's a form of control, no?

Things are in a little bit of a spin for me at the moment. In a good way, though. My pet project just got a huge boost, which means a lot of work to do in a short time. Thus, my posts here will be a little less regular...but hopefully a bit better. There are no guarantees on that, however. I'm just being honest. I hope you will stay tuned, though. There will be interesting developments I hope to share here.

A lot of things will soon be out of my control. It's wonderful and knicker-twisting. I just hope I'll wear the dark circles well.

At Least There's Not Muzak Playing

I feel like I am on hold. Like someone pushed "pause" or something. And it's grating on my nerves. I'm sitting here, spinning my wheels, going nowhere, getting nothing accomplished. And it's putting me in a bit of a mood.

I'm from L.A., so I know about astrology. It's an elective in high school. Kidding. Seriously, people, we aren't *that* out there. Anyway, the dread Mercury Retrograde cycle is about to go down. From January 11th through February 1st things are going to go a bit hooey. No. I don't live my life by the moon cycles. Mercury Retrograde and my sign are the only things I pay attention to in astrology. I don't even check my daily forecast (though, I do a monthly *glance* here and here). I used to read about Mercury Retrograde in LA Weekly's "Rocky Horoscope". She would write about it and say, "We're all screwed!" I was all, What's she talking about? Everything's just fine. I was in the eight grade. Of course everything was fine.

I never heeded the warnings Rocky put out. Never paid attention to it. Until I was an assistant production coordinator on a low-budget horror flick during film school. Principle photography started on the day Mercury turned, and I've never been part of such a fustercluck in my life. Everything that could go wrong did. In spades. It was unbelievable. From that point on, I've paid attention to this little phase and simply batten down the hatches. I'm not looking for trouble, per se, I'm just *prepared* for it.

I don't know if what I'm feeling now is the MR influence, or just M-E. Things have already started to lag. Hence the griping about feeling stuck. But there are things on hold, and I find that I am kind of holding my breath. I have a meeting next week that may or may not change my life. I may or may not being going to New York the week after that. I may or may not have work after next month. None of that is particularly earth shattering. None of it is giving me angina. Which is the weird part. I'm not tense or nervous. I'm paralyzed, in a sense. I'm certainly stuck creativity wise. Not writer's block. I don't believe in that. More like constipation. Everything is just stuck in my head and I can't get it out. This sucks.

Whether it's a planetary influence or my own shizzle, I just want things to get moving again. I've got deadlines and whatnot.

Happy Monday! (And that's not dripping with sarcasm.)

Oh. My. God. I never thought I would ever say that I was happy to see a Monday (that wasn't my birthday, Christmas, New Year or any other national holiday), but I am so glad today is here. Because it's like now the New Year can officially begin. Now, we can really start on a new page and embrace the clean slate that we perceive January 1 provides.

It's kind of exciting to get to do it all over again, only better and perhaps with more wisdom. The days will all be the same, only the number of the year has changed. The events will differ, unique challenges will come into play, but there will also be wonderful surprises. And that's what I love about New Year.

I feel like I can finally exhale. Ahhhhh. There are so many irons in the fire that were put *on hold* until the first of the year (which actually means the second week of January, because no one wants to deal with anything right away; they are all afraid of what they will walk into when they get to their desks). Either way, now we can start making some progress and catch up from the lost time. This pleases me to no end (and please remind me of this when I am pissed off next week that no one has picked up the balls -- thanks).

This is going to be a great year. I can feel it already. And, no, it's not the sugar high from the Christmas candy. This has to be *the* year. Like I said, I'm demanding that it will be groovy. I know you are just like me (I don't mean that as an insult), and you've been working hard on your goals and you want to start seeing some progress. Nothing is as frustrating as having your fate in others' hands. I effing hate that. But, it's a fact of life. Patience isn't a virtue of mine -- but, it's forced upon me quite frequently. This year, however, I'm taking fate and life by the bollocks and shall squeeze, ever so gently, until they hand over the goods. Because it is bloody well time that happens. For all of us. And, why not? What have we got to lose? (Easily said for a single, childless chick who rents, I know.) It's just time. And today starts it off.

Happy Monday. So glad you are here. Please get us off to a fantabulous start (because I'll be so embarrassed if you blow).

Just in case, here's some Happy Mondays that don't blow. xo

The Problem With Superpowers

The problem with superpowers is that sometimes you forget you have them. Or at least I do. I have to be really careful with what I put out in the Universe, because it is likely to happen. Though, somehow winning the lottery and losing those damn ten pounds the wrong Pill put on me are exempt. Seems I have to work for those. Whatever. It's the thought that counts for me. Really. It's almost like I am like Wish Girl or Intention Woman. It's kind of spooky.

Last week was a rollercoaster of good news/bad news (though, not in that order). By the time Thursday rolled around, I got not only good news about progress on a writing project, but a job offer from a friend. I had decided to give notice to my day job on December 1st and start with her on the 16th. It was a plan. Life seemed to be working for me for a change. Celebratory fish tacos from Lilly's were bought for my co-workers, who have been so supportive through the highs and lows, though I didn't feel I could tell them why I was in such a good mood. Sometimes, you need to keep things a little close to the vest. You don't want to jinx the mojo. Jinx is my kryptonite.

Friday morning, I got up to go to my client's and, before I left, I Twittered: Getting ready for a major shift. All I meant was that I was ready for even more good to come. What I got was a phone call from the general counsel of the imploding company I'd been working for. He had to let me go. Right before pay period. Typical. The ass hat turkey that was my boss didn't even have the balls to do it himself. Also typical. Can you really be that much of a wuss and declare yourself a CEO? I think not. I had grown friendly with the GC. We all know we are in the same sinking ship there. At least I was being shoved off in a lifeboat. He explained how awful he felt and how hard this was to do. I was not at all surprised. I knew my salary level put me in jeopardy (and when I say that, I was not making bank...the turkey just prefers to pay third-world wages). The GC thanked me for being so nice about it. I refrained from mentioning that they were merely beating me to the punch. The only difference would have been that I'd have had the class to give two weeks notice. My severance package? An extra day's pay for that Friday. I know! Knock me over with a feather. What will I do with all that dough?

I sat there and smiled and finished my Friday client duties. There was something poetic about the whole situation. Then I logged on to Twitter and was reminded of my post. A shift indeed.

The problem with my superpowers is that they are inconsistent. Some things happen super quick, and others take ages. Either way, what I put out there is bound to happen. The date with Clooney is inevitable.

For the first time in over a decade, the keys on my chain are just mine (I keep my Friday client's in their own place). For the first time in six years, the emails on my BlackBerry are just for me. I don't have to punch a clock anymore. I can keep vampire hours. I get to go to the gym for two whole hours every day -- except for Friday (client) and Sunday (laundry) -- and so there will go those bloody ten pounds once and for all! Hurrah! I finally get my life back. My work-from-home-writer-consultant-freelance-independent-contractor life. And that's just super.

Sexy Back

There's nothing sexy about a yawn. A morning stretch, yes. A yawn, not so much.

I can't stop yawning. All day long. Basically, I'm watching my sex appeal walk out the door with each sleepy gape. Really. Every third sentence, just picture me yawning. And not a cute little yawn, but a you-can-see-my-tonsillectomy-scars chasm. Like I said, sexy. And I just yawned again.

All I need to do is get my silly ass to bed at a decent hour. But, no. My brain doesn't shut off until midnight. This isn't a case of "racing thoughts" or insomnia. At least that would be fixable. I just have a stubborn brain that wants to *do* stuff when we finally get on *my* time. My brain doesn't like the fact I have to rent it out to other people. It thought we were through with that. But no. Almost, just not yet. It's like dealing with a bratty toddler on sugar. It just wants its way, and I have not choice but to relent. Truth be told, I like my brain time. I just miss my sleep.

The brain and I don't get to bed until about one. The alarm goes off before six. And I live in a sleep deficit. It sucks. But this is how it goes. I am a square peg trying to fit into a round hole. I am not cut out for the nine-to-five world. And I know I'm not alone. We, the nocturnal masses, are the ones who support the caffeine industry. We do our best to function as *normal* people. But, we're not. We aren't lazy. We aren't slackers. We're not even hungover (most of the time....like 98%). We might look that way due to our dark circles, pale skin and perpetual yawning, but please note that we look a hot mess because we are desperately trying to adapt...and pretty much failing in spite of those efforts. Still, we don't give up. While we might be showing off our dental work to random strangers as we tilt back our heads and attempt to balance our oxygen levels, getting yet another latte, we are really trying our best to make it work.

And I just want my sexy back.

Faking the Little O

I never understood faking an orgasm. That's like ordering dessert and not taking a bite. Pointless. The Big O is sacred. The little o...well, that's another matter.

I decided to try a new tact in facing the dreaded Monday. I was going to fake optimism. Couldn't be that hard, right? Paste on a smile and seize the day. Criminy. If it were that easy, we'd all be doing it.

The daily challenge is, of course, traffic, which is a fascinating thing. It deserved to be studied. There's something quantum about it; whether it's physics or mechanics, I'm not sure. But, when I'm Oprah/Bill Gates rich, I'm going to sic some scientists figure that shizzle out. We all know there's no rhyme or reason to it. And today, it screwed me. Even though I went faster than I promised myself I would (especially since we are nearing the end of the month), I ended up behinder. Every second counts when you are a commuter. And when you are going to be stopping at the slowest Starbucks on the planet, you need lots of seconds in your favor.

Today, I entered the Trancas store and found only a couple in front of me. Unfortunately, they were German tourists (no offense intended to German tourists). They did not quite get the concept of Starbucks, American math, our coin system, or placing their order at the same time. Four, count them, FOUR minutes standing there as they were schooled in the finer points of what a venti is. Now, the rub was, there were two more baristas behind the counter. These baristas are trained to be like reverse ninjas. Instead of you not seeing them, they don't see you.

Today was the first day I was late (without the excuse of having no water...and even then I was only five minutes late). Today, I was four minutes late, and my boss gleefully announced it when I walked in. He meant it with a sense of humor. I just thought, "If you had any idea how hard it was to be this on-time, you'd keep that *funny* to yourself."

Then he told me the internet was still as it shouldn't be. My sixth marathon call to Verizon. The girls in the office gave me looks of sympathy. This is when they keep quiet and count how many times I throw the phone and not-swear. In return, I don't put the on-hold "music" on speakerphone. I keep my pain to myself.

Today, I was handed the black hat. (Or what a former client called the "rubber bands", in reference to rudimentary castration. He was fond of saying, "I see Miller's brought her rubber bands to the meeting today," or "Be sure to set your rubber bands on the table when you talk to him.") I understand the delicate nature of a female "assistant" (even when I served as a "consultant") having to take a male vendor/colleague to task. Even I don't enjoy it. Much. There's nothing less un-fun than having to address little things like: Did you submit the (lone) bid and get it approved before you hired the subcontractor who happens to be your friend...in Nevada? No? Well, next time you might want to...and get two more bids while you're at it! That's fun, especially when they want to take another twelve minutes to reintroduce themselves and let me know how things were done before I came into play. What they don't realize is that I put down the phone, walk away, pick up a document from the printer, think about what I want for dinner and reorganize my purse while they are doing that. It's amazing how far an uh-huh can take you in a conversation.

Fortunately, the day didn't get any crappier. Just painfully long. The optimism I attempted to fake with a pasted on smile was replaced by lines of frustration where the Botox should go. The drive home remained long. Dinner was eaten quietly as I listened to a good friend cry softly over my earbud, suffering from her own frustration. I stared at the glass of wine for a long time before I finally drank it. Wondering how I might manage tomorrow. Placing bets on how long it will take me to get my latte. Questioning the meaning of life. Remembering to re-charge my iPod.

I suppose the only thins worth faking are politeness and interest. Did I hear you say uh-huh?

Go With the Flow

No good deed goes unpunished. Seriously. Think how that little aphorism plays in your life. In spite of good karma (and, believe or not, I do have some of that), it's the little things that end up nipping us in the derriere. Like Tuesday morning, for example.

I'm desperately trying to adjust to this real job and long commute lifestyle, and desperately trying to fit the gym in there somewhere. It became painfully clear during week one that the after-work scenario was not going to fly. That meant an early morning call. I'm a night owl by nature and generally allergic to anything pre-noon. The six-ayem alarm screech has been met with multiple snooze button smacks. While that felt good, there wasn't a huge calorie burn or cardio benefit. (If only. Imagine how big that DVD would be.) After four bumpy weeks, I seem to have finally gotten my act together, and am waking up early enough to scramble to the gym. Not for the workouts of yore. No. This is a twenty-twenty split (twenty minutes of weights, twenty of cardio). Granted, there's not a huge calorie blast from this regimen, either, but dragging my ass there is half the battle. I get brownie points for that somewhere, right? (And can I use those for cake?)

There is no stretching apres workout, though. No time for that. Instead, I rush home and turn on the shower while I peel out of my gym clothes and begin the mad dash that is the remainder of my morning. So, it was a major hiccup yesterday when I turned on the tap and nothing came out. I stood there rather perplexed. There was water running before I left, right? Flashback to teeth-brushing, face-washing, toilet flushing and water refilling the tank. Yes. Water was intact an hour ago. So what the hell happened? I didn't see any signs of construction highjinks or burst mains on my way back home. Perhaps it was just a problem with my shower. Which I realize is a daft idea, but you know how it is when you are faced with a nonsensical problem -- you are driven to examine every possibility, no matter how dopey. Of course the bathroom and kitchen sinks were a no flow. I put on my robe and hit the phone.

Every moment counts on this new pre-work workout plan. I've got forty-five minutes to get ready and get out the door. I was losing precious time. My property manager had no idea why my pipes were dry, but she called the maintenance dude across town to come over and check it out. While I was on the phone with her, there was a pounding at my door. Through the security gate, I saw a man donned a reflective orange vest. He spoke no English. Me no hablo Espanol. After several attempts at Spanglish, I took the card from him and saw my street number next to my cross street, thus showing me an address that does not exist. I tried to explain this and that I had no water, and if he was in anyway involved in that to please remedy the situation. He said something I didn't understand, so I asked him to bring over his supervisor. He apologized and went away. Whatever. I needed a shower, and he obviously couldn't help me.

I called DWP hoping they might have an answer. Nope. No outages in my area. Blast. I pulled on some yoga pants and a tee and went out in search of the non-English speaking plumber, or some sort of explanation. Nothing out of the ordinary but me traipsing around the neighborhood when I should've been applying makeup or something as productive. I emailed my boss to let him know of the dire situation and that I would get there as soon as I could.

I tried to think of a Plan B. Go back to the gym and shower there? Yeah no. Showering with flipflops on is saved for camping trips. (I no longer camp, by the way.) Should I dash to the liquor store and buy a few gallons to heat up? Nah. I would rather see this as a sign from God that I deserved a personal day.

Another knock at my door. The maintenance hero. Someone had turned off the main. One day, I should find out where that is.

It seemed God would rather I worked. Emailed the boss man again that the water was back on, hopped in the shower and rushed out the door. And, even with all the time lost, I was only five minutes late for work, and that included a stop at the slowest Starbucks in the world. There's a lot to be said for not enjoying your shower or giving a toss what your face or outfit looks like in the harsh light of day. It saves a lot of time. But we all know I'm a spender not a saver.

T'Was Only a Matter of Time

It was bound to happen. I slept through my alarm. I suppose it could've been worse. At least I didn't turn it off (which I have done more than once) and wake up at the time I was supposed to be there (which, too, I have done more than once). This time, I just smacked my snooze button. For over an hour. I woke in a panic not just because I was late, but because I set my alarm clock thirty minutes fast and I can't do math first thing in the morning. Not even something as simple as deduct a half-hour from the time. The sad thing is, I've done this since high school, and I still can't figure it out.

My saving grace was that I'm still attempting to make it to the gym (which hasn't happened in two weeks) and I'm setting the alarm extra early hoping that today will be the day I make it to the treadmill. So, technically, I simply slept through my workout. Again.

Side note: If I end up as "died in her sleep", you will know what really happened is that I overslept, attempted to do math in a panic and my heart and/or brain exploded.

Fortunately, I was able to get in the car on time, with a shower and styled hair and clothes on. Unfortunately, every car in the world was on the road today. Usually, my drive is a clear shot. Traffic is so freaking weird. Once the road opened up, my lead foot started itching, but, up ahead, I spotted a police car. Sigh. I hung back at a safe distance. Slowly, though, the number of cars between me and the fuzz reduced until I was right behind him. I resigned myself to the fact that there would be no morning latte that day.

Then, I noticed the silver Audi that had been riding my ass had changed lanes and ended up next to the cop at the light. She wasn't shy. They were neck and neck for a few miles, and then she pulled ahead. It was only a matter of time. Part of me wanted to applaud her. The other part just waited to see this play out. The moment her car cleared the police cruiser, he threw on his lights and pulled her over. All I could think was, Duh. You don't pass a cop. That's like Driver's Ed 101. After my mental litany of judgments and mockery, I said a little prayer, giving thanks that it wasn't me on the side of PCH whipping out my license, registration and proof of insurance and cursing my lead foot. My soy latte tasted extra sweet that morning. And the alarm has been pushed out of arm's reach, just for good measure.

Happy Pills?

Maybe it's the Midol I took before I wrote this post, but I'm feeling much better about things. A bit more relaxed. Dare I say at peace? Well, let's not push it. Resigned might be more the case. In any event, I feel better. Insert exhale here.

I'm still totally sleep deprived. Haven't been to the gym in over a week. Still need to get a banner made for the book fair on Sunday. (Want to run bets that will get done and it won't be me, a Sharpie and a white garbage bag on Saturday night?) I have 250 emails in my inbox to get through (no joke). Invoices to do. Bills to put in the post. You know, a bunch of life to deal with.

All that aside, I've surrendered to the long drive, the lack of free time and how quickly things pile up. How fast things don't get done. How rapidly the days pass. Yeah, I'm just cluing into all this. Remember, I was spoilt by working from home in yoga pants for ages. All good things sure do come to an end.

It seems as though I'm adjusting, just like everyone said I would. Adapt, evolve or end up in the loony bin. Yeah, yeah. I'm still thinking it might just be the Midol, though.

Driving Gloves

I've made this mistake before. The last time I had a long commute, I got in the habit of listening to punk rock on my way into work. I love it. It's a better jolt than caffeine. However, it can make you a little agro on the road. Honking horn. Flipping bird. That was then, though. Now, I'm a Buddhist. I'll just chant for those stupid asses.

I also arrived at the office a tad "intense". I was ready to go. Ready to do something. My co-worker suggested listening to jazz instead. While it's an art form I appreciate, to me, it's better heard in the evening. In the morning, I want more.

Another side effect of punk tunage is speed. That can be a problem. I was born with a lead foot. The first thing I learned to drive was a motorcycle. I like to go fast. I like to feel the road. I lean into the curves in my car. Listening to a hard, heavy beat and a raucous serenade, looking ahead at an open stretch of undulating highway...I dare you not to go eighty. Heck. I'm just trying to stay under fifty. (It's the posted speed in most of the area I barrel through...I have the most difficulty where it's not.)

I'm being challenged all sorts of ways with this new gig. Wake up early. Be on time. Keep an eye out for the fuzz. Sheesh. That's a lot to ask from a girl first thing in the day. I might soon be going back on the Starbucks -- though I've been on the papercup wagon nearly a year now...really don't want to blow it.

The drive home, however, is taken at a slower pace. As the sun sets into the Pacific, I chat with friends as the road unwinds me home. I'm too tired to work the iPod, and the BlackBerry has speed dial.


Play with speakers set to 11.

Change Is Good?

I'm having a bit of a freak out. And I need to put this into perspective because, unlike the Gulf Coast of Texas, I'm not having to pack up my belongings and loved ones and head for the highlands knowing that I will return to a life changed. This, so shortly after the anniversary of Katrina and September 11th when we all saw our worlds altered into a "new normal" (and some are still suffering through that change). No. I'm not dealing with anything that catastrophic. I'm simply starting a new job and will have to commute for the first time in about a decade.

This is a bigger deal than you might think. I will be working an hour away. Not an hour-stuck-in-traffic kind of way. An hour to get there on a good day. The only route to work is PCH. PCH is a beautiful stretch of road overlooking the Pacific where the slightest disruption causes a major fustercluck...and you are going to be there for a while. You are basically trapped. There are very few outlets to help you get back to civilization. We are heading toward mudslide season. This is going to present many obstacles. (And I'm not talking the standard boulder-in-the-road.)

The first challenge for me is morning. I have to be in the car, engine on, by nine ayem, no later. (Yeah, I was able to swing a ten ayem start time...they know it's a sherpa-requiring schlep.) I'm generally still at the gym at nine ayem. And this week of test-driving the new schedule proved to be a huge failure. I'm scared.

The next challenge is having to think about lunch. Lunch is not something I generally obsess over, but delivery isn't really going to be an option in my remote location. I'm going to have to pre-plan that. So, not only am I going to have to be up, dressed and in the car much earlier than I have been in ages, I'm going to have to be dressed (including hair done and makeup applied...must make that distinction, as it wasn't really required working from home), in the car with lunch prepared. This is going to be hard.

Now, I can hear most of you saying, "Hello. Welcome to the real world, honey." I know. But I've always tried to avoid the real world. I'm a misfit for it. I am astounded at the people who are able to do this kind of thing every day and have actual families and pets and they all remain alive and functional. My hat is tipped in your direction. Me...I'm stressing out because I'm having TiVo issues and realize I'll never make it home in time for happy hour. And dry cleaning. I'm going to have to deal with dry cleaning on a regular basis again. That's just another ball for me to juggle, schedule, plan. Ugh.

Remember, I'm a writer. My head is perpetually surrounded in a creative fog and I prefer to keep vampire hours. This makes "real world" life an unnatural thing. But, I am determined to master it. Rise to the challenge. After all, I'm a grown up. It's time I started acting like one. Or putting on the facade of one. Proper full-time job. Direct deposit. Dialing 9 for an outside line. I think I can handle this. I'm buying a backup alarm clock this weekend, though. Just to be safe.

Better Late than Whenever

So, I'm test-driving the new schedule I'm going to be on, and trying to work out the kinks. So far, no good.

This is the one week to get it down. The dress rehearsal and dry run all rolled into one. All I have to do is wake up early each day and fit in the gym so I can make this new life work. Outside of that, I have only one thing set on the calendar...and that one thing was today. Next week, I'm going to have to start commuting for the first time in a long time. This isn't going to be easy. I'm naturally time-challenged in the morning. I believe writers are derived from the vampire bloodline. Not only can we suck the life out of you but, for the most part, we'd rather write through the night. Daylight has it's purpose, but it's not really enjoyable until noon or later. Thus, I have to get myself sorted for this new pattern. I can no longer abuse the snooze, have a shower for lunch if I get a late start to and/or from the gym, and pajamas won't be appropriate attire on the days I just can't decide what to wear. I really have to get my shizzle organizzled.

The alarm was more or less respected, but I got a little sidetracked on the way to the treadmill. Damn that internet. It's such a time suck. With the amount of carbohydrates I consumed for dinner last night, there was no way to bow out of the gym gracefully. You play, you pay.

Since I'm still on an artistic high from Saturday night's concert, I listened to The Downward Spiral as I attempted to undo dinner. Listening to Nine Inch Nails is almost as good as going to the gym a bit miffed. Adrenaline. It's awesome. One doesn't really watching the clock when listening to Trent, so I went a little longer than scheduled. While I adored Reznor before, after Saturday, I am even more enamored. He is so effing good on stage. His voice is incredible. His band is tight. The light show was dazzling. He played the xylophone, which was unbelievably hot. And the passion. Oh, the passion. There's something about the way he threw things around on stage that made me go weak in the knees. So, I kind of got lost in fantasy land as I relived a few special moments. Sigh.

I was kind of excited to get home because I had purchased a new shower head yesterday. No. Not that kind of shower head. Please. I got a water-filtering kind. I was dreaming of a long "rain+full spray" dousing, free of chlorine and other junk. Unfortunately, because of all my dilly-dallying, it was a power shower and a rush out the door.

Arg. I was five minutes late for my meeting. But, I called ahead to let them know.

The meeting went way longer than I had expected. Don't you hate that? I figured it would be thirty-minutes. An hour, tops. Two-point-five later, I was weak from skipping breakfast and dying for lunch. And by then I was fed up with rushing around. I just wanted to eat and watch Oprah. It will be one of the last times I get to see her not on TiVo. So, I took the few remaining tasks I aspired to do today and moved them over to tomorrow. This is my last week of, "Meh. Whenever." And I think I'll make the most of it.

TGI...Why?

I think there's something wrong with life if we have to give a big, "Woo-hoo! It's Friday! Thank God!!!" when that day arrives. How much must our weekday working lives suck to have that reaction? What is it about the time we spend between Friday elation and Monday dread that makes us loathe any day that doesn't start with an S? These are the questions plaguing my mind this morning as I realize that I am already running late. But, at least it's Friday. Thank God.

If only two days out of seven are celebrated, enjoyed, worshipped, held sacred, then what the hell is going on with the other five? And what does it say about our meager existences if we hate our jobs so much, feeling a shadow of doom as we drive into our places of employment? Nothing good, I'd think. There is the adage of "Love what you do," but how many of us can say that and mean it? It seems like a great many of us hold our breath all week, waiting for it to end, then, when Friday comes about, we all exhale like we are finally able to live again.

Now, I'm not saying that everybody feels this way, or even that everybody feels this way every week. And not everybody has Saturday and Sunday off, or two days in a row off, or even two days off for that matter. In this economy, some are working not for but on their weekends to make ends meet. That makes me sad. We all need a weekend to enjoy.

But the thing is, we should be enjoying the week, too. I don't think enough of us are having fun Monday through Thursday. Are you? I'm not. And that's my fault. It's too easy to focus on what you don't like rather than what you do. And I do like my life. I suppose it's just the frustration of trying to fit more into it without rushing to do it. My attempt to wake up earlier to have a more peaceful morning isn't having much success. But, I'm not giving up. My perpetual yawning is proof of that. I don't know that I'll ever be one to say, "Yea! It's Monday!" But I hope to one day wake up on that day and not say, "Crap." Wait, isn't Labor Day coming up?


Enjoy the Easybeats and "Friday On My Mind".




Here's Goldspot and their "Friday".




And how could I not include Loverboy.