(no subject)

I was a teenager this evening. Hanging out with an old high school friend, talking trash on one another while playing video games. I got deadleg from sitting on the floor and he started to beat the tar out of me in our game. Now, the apartment is silent except for planes overhead and the one a.m. freight going past.

Work is full of drama. Full to the point where my boss asks me about moon phases because she knows I'm weird and hold that sort of knowledge. Three quarters of our insurance department got into a fight on Wednesday. It started on Facebook, despite the fact that they all sit within five feet of one another, then escalated into a screaming match while everyone else was in a meeting. Lovely.

Last weekend, I tried to convince the Engineer it would be a fantastic idea if he went up to the counter at our local video rental store to ask them if a particular film was the one where Dakota Fanning gets raped. He didn't think it was such a great plan. (I honestly wanted to know if it was the film, because I'd heard something about it and heard it was good. But, the devil on my left shoulder who likes to scatter golden apples got in the way.)

This weekend, I will blow off steam. I will dance, drink rum, and maybe wear feathers in my hair. I will hang out with my girl, Miss Janette, and be unladylike. I will not throw myself at any rockstars, should I happen to meet them, and nor will I get into any trouble I am unable to get myself back out of.

Then, I will sleep. Sleep has turned into an old friend I rarely see anymore. We run into each once in a while and there is stilted and awkward exchange, the type where we shuffle our feet against the ground and refuse to make eye contact.

I should be sleeping right now, but instead- I am writing.