I have another four hour layover tonight.

Four hours between the dayjob and the nightjob.

I wanted to sleep actually, but couldn’t. I would’ve loved to take something really potent which wouldn’t do much for my congestion but would knock me right out so that I wouldn’t care, but that would make it impossible for me to make it through the nightjob tonight, so that’s out. I tried sleeping with a lesser concoction, but I’ve always had trouble sleeping without breathing and so here I am, wasting time until I’ve got to don the ugly shirt and venture into the unfriendly flourescent lit night.

Having decided that I probably could use some solid food after a week of hard drinking (not the fun kind, the kind you do when swallowing hurts), I zapped up a cheap t.v. dinner tonight – teeny sliver of pizza, a few spoons of corn & something barely chewable masquerading as a brownie, a mammoth 6 & 1/2 ounces of barely pseudo-food altogether. (Really cheap t.v. dinner.) I’m thinking that the lack of flavour had as much to do with the lack of taste in the food as the lack of working taste-buds in my mouth. I’m also thinking that solid food isn’t all I seem to remember it being. Who needs solid food as long as chocolate chip ice cream melts so sweetly?

This two job thing is getting really old. I’ve been doing it since August and it never gets easier. I would so much rather go back to bed, dose myself silly, have a weekend of rest like everyone else seems to have.

But hey, it’s a way to get out of debt. Right?

Heigh ho. Gotta go.