Tired

Forty-six boxes packed. I'm still not completely finished, but I'm nearing the end.

So glad I'm getting out. At this point all the frustrations of my apartment house are becoming more amusing in the absurd sense than horrifying and stressful. Such as the other night when I was sitting on my porch and a drunk guy stumbled out of the downstairs apartment and took a piss in the bushes. Fun. No, wait, what? Oh yes. And then slurred an apology for not seeing me, and got into a car and drove away. I said a little prayer for all the drivers on the road with him on it. Unbelievable.

'S been a rough week at work again, and when things are rough I tend not to roll into bed and sleep the world away at the first opportunity, like I should; instead, I tend to escape into a book far later in the night than pragmatism would suggest is healthy, both for my body and my emotional wellbeing.

Oh well. I'm reading The Golden Compass, and I confess that, child of the information age that I am, I picked it up because I liked a trailer for the movie that I saw in the theater a few months back. But I'm liking it well so far, and it's a hard book to put down -- there's always something happening.

But today I'm tired, and not only did I sleep little, I slept unwell, and it's a raw rainy cold October day (which in itself is wonderful -- we've been having fricking 85 degree weather for the past two weeks and it's been driving me insane, autumn is supposed to be chilly, thank you) which only makes me want to sleep. Something about curling up in bed on a rainy day, right?

And my office is a disaster, and yesterday was one of those days where all my most recent mistakes came to light at once at work, and I caught them, and had to scramble for the rest of the day trying to correct them. *Sigh.*

So here's to gainful employment, and keeping on, and plowing through, and making things work because they have to.