Monday mornings.

[green_dreams]

The one virtue of the contractors being in to work was that if they were going to be in (which wasn't certain on any given day) they'd be at least stopping by shortly after 9:00. This was actually a really handy motivation to get up and dressed, and at that point getting out the door to work was easy. Not fun or pleasant, not free of a vague sense of abandoning hearth and home to the invading stranger, just easy.

I could use that right now.

I got at most four hours of sleep last night, and I think it was less. I'm exhausted, and--to veer briefly into vanity, self-indulgence, my own LJ thank-you-muchly, I'm sure I have something about wailing walls up around here somewhere--I look like hell. I haven't had bags under my eyes this deep or bruised in years.[1] I am pretty sure they don't need me at work, I am pretty sure at least one person is going to ask me what's wrong, and my only motivation for going in right now is a vague recognition that, in light of the fact that I have booked Friday off to go to a wedding, the hours are kind of necessary.[2]

"You'll be sorry in a week and a half if you don't take the hours" is not exactly a grand rallying cry. Not quite as shoot-yourself-in-the-foot as "You can take our lives but you'll never take our freedom!"--that at least had some kind of sad Reg Shoe style. But it does not stir the blood.

Angel did not come and sit on me until 7:30 a.m. Usually she does it as I am lying in bed waiting to fall asleep. I missed her.

Tangent: I cannot hear the phrase "dumb animal" without being briefly reminded of the old folk belief that animals can talk on Christmas Eve. Because dumb in that sense doesn't mean "stupid", it just means "mute". Incapable of speaking, crying out, asking for help, doing whatever they might do if they could talk.

(I mean, it's not as if Angel and Toby and Abby don't (didn't) make themselves perfectly well understood. Do not get me wrong. But speech is different.)

Hmh. Just checked. Apparently modern slaughterhouses *do* operate on Christmas Eve. It's practical, I understand that.

I just want to go back to bed.
---
[1] No, not even with Toby. Toby, it came on slow and steady, and the light of my life was sitting up with me and making sure I got enough to drink. Adequate hydration counteracts the whole Sampsonite mascara thing, did you know?
[2] Cash aside, I think the health insurance is predicated on a minimum average of thirty hours a work week. I'd need to check, though.

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[reyl.livejournal.com]

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