Hitting the Wall
I went to bed last night around 23:15, fell asleep... Uh... I don't know, somewhere thereafter. My sleep was not completely restful, but I think that by the time my alarm clock shocked me awake at 06:30 I'd gotten something like six hours of sleep. I can remember the days during my freshman year of college when six hours was my optimum amount of sleep; I'd like to train my body to get back to that point, but we'll see what happens.
The point, though, is that I got about six hours of sleep last night. I was at work this morning at 09:05, having run a work-related errand on my way into the office that delayed my arrival by a few minutes. I worked from then until 11:50 or so, primarily running errands and making deliveries when I wasn't busy killing time on the computer. I took an hour lunch with a co-worker, then came back and did some work here at the office. I ran some more errands, then went home at 16:00 to get an hour break prior to my evening shift.
I came back to the office by 17:55, and got to work on some printing that needed to be taken care of. It was at that point that it happened: I hit the wall. I currently have a bit more than an hour and a half left, I'm a little less than halfway done with the first printing project with a second, nearly equal one still awaiting my attention. I've got about half of the things on my "to do" list done, and I hope to kill a few more by the time I go to bed.
I'm due back at the office at 08:00 tomorrow, and I'll be working another full day: eight to five. This month's paycheck is going to be pretty friendly, and that's a great thing. Not only that, but as I've mentioned before, and keep mentioning to everyone I possibly can, I have a fighting chance at a job that I'd be completely perfect for, and that would be completely perfect for me.
Mo-Licious says that I'm not Superman; the truth of the matter is that what I've endured during the last few months would have killed a lesser man by Christmas. I am Superman; I forgot it for a while, but I'm back. I may hit the wall tonight, but after sleep and a hot shower I'll be back to full strength, bobbing and weaving and breaking tackles.
Thus saith the Fly. Hear me roar.
Oh, and Poosh is alive, apparently; I figured he'd been permanently embalmed in a concoction of gin, rum, fruit juice, and what the Brits call "alcapops", but he's alive. Just thought y'all would want to know.
The point, though, is that I got about six hours of sleep last night. I was at work this morning at 09:05, having run a work-related errand on my way into the office that delayed my arrival by a few minutes. I worked from then until 11:50 or so, primarily running errands and making deliveries when I wasn't busy killing time on the computer. I took an hour lunch with a co-worker, then came back and did some work here at the office. I ran some more errands, then went home at 16:00 to get an hour break prior to my evening shift.
I came back to the office by 17:55, and got to work on some printing that needed to be taken care of. It was at that point that it happened: I hit the wall. I currently have a bit more than an hour and a half left, I'm a little less than halfway done with the first printing project with a second, nearly equal one still awaiting my attention. I've got about half of the things on my "to do" list done, and I hope to kill a few more by the time I go to bed.
I'm due back at the office at 08:00 tomorrow, and I'll be working another full day: eight to five. This month's paycheck is going to be pretty friendly, and that's a great thing. Not only that, but as I've mentioned before, and keep mentioning to everyone I possibly can, I have a fighting chance at a job that I'd be completely perfect for, and that would be completely perfect for me.
Mo-Licious says that I'm not Superman; the truth of the matter is that what I've endured during the last few months would have killed a lesser man by Christmas. I am Superman; I forgot it for a while, but I'm back. I may hit the wall tonight, but after sleep and a hot shower I'll be back to full strength, bobbing and weaving and breaking tackles.
Thus saith the Fly. Hear me roar.
Oh, and Poosh is alive, apparently; I figured he'd been permanently embalmed in a concoction of gin, rum, fruit juice, and what the Brits call "alcapops", but he's alive. Just thought y'all would want to know.
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home