Catered Mornings

Okay, here’s the sign that I’m working too much. Saturday, eight in the morning, starting my ten hour (or more) shift. I woke up exhausted, and am in here without combing my hair or anything of that sort. Just sort of left the shower in a haze, threw on my ratty suit and tie (because I have to dress up for my weekend job) drove here, yelled at the caterers who always show up an hour early, and am now at my little desk in my secret chambers wondering if I should start drinking now. (I brought a selection of Islay malts to get me through the day).

What I may do, instead, is dig through this laptop and pull out all the half stories I’ve written for the front page. I hate working on the laptop because I guess I’m getting old, but that’s no excuse. I have the beginnings of a dozen whining rants on here, including a ten page rambling about my weekend job.

So I’ll spend the next ten hours cleaning that up and spamming the front page, because the wi fi here is too slow to stream shit. Not that I’m complaining! Oh, god, no. Because at least I have the internet. The alternative would be ten hours of book reading and window staring. You can’t really watch shit, anyway. Caterers are always coming in to be assholes, and guests are always coming in to look at the dead birds that fill my office. Or, rather, where my boss sits in a corner of a library/stuffed bird collection museum room. I occupy her poorly designed and stinky office chair while idiot after idiot comes drunkenly in and gapes at books and birds and asks me inane questions, even if I look wildly busy.

Hopefully this wedding won’t be like that. It’s a beautiful day, so they should be outside drinking instead of in a dark room watching me watch them.