And now I just had a bunch of chocolate cake before bed. Bad decisions.

Did I mention this yet? I've been slightly demoralized by the impressiveness of others lately (a horrible thing to say). I'm not necessarily feeling the presence of my own skills, or positive qualities. In the past 18 hours I've had two people ask if I was upset based on the tone of my voice. In neither case was I upset, though with the first case I certainly was winding down for the end of my shift (and the end of the tenth doctor- the last two episodes to go! Maybe I WAS upset...). I think the second case was just a matter of the natural stumbling around an untruth- nothing too damaging, I'll explain it as my saying I didn't want an offered apple when I actually DID want an apple.

Hmm, that simplification could also be classified as an untruth. Good thing I've no verbal tics to give me away this time.

A guy told me his wife's friend thought I was cute. That gave me a boost, one doesn't hear that all too often at all. The guy asked if I was open to a blind date, well sure, I said. I don't have anything else really going on, oppourtunity rarely knocks on my door, not exactly beating them off with a stick, etc. etc.

Bah, I sound gloomy. It might help if I don't start sentences with "bah".

Bah.

I completed a thousand word short story the other night for a contest/fundraiser that I'm pretty pleased with. The max word count was 4000 words, so I naturally feel like I missed the bar. I've got another short story contest on deck, this time the max word count is 2500. So if my entry ends up being 525 words, well I'll have seen the pattern.

I'm tired, that's the thing of it right now. I should've gone to bed an hour earlier. And accepted that apple. I've got six hours to go. On my shift.

I completely forget whether I've mentoned my trip Thursday to the Drake Hotel for this disc release of "Alphabot". While it generally blew me away, the first number was the best I think. Just the main guy doing his thing in a cape and robot helmet. Slash cardboard helmet. I stood the whole time through the show, bouncing around on my feet to the music. Now my left calf doesn't like me. Like I'm some kind of reverse House.

Reverse because it's his other leg that hurts... I think. But obviously my discomfort is equal to the pain of a fictional character. (It helps that he's fictional.) Wait, maybe the pain is in my thigh... I forget, it's a moving thing and I'm in a chair. It feels weird is all I'm saying. And that I need vicadin (vicadine?).

Also a cane, and to diagnose someone as suffering from amylidoses (sp?) and lupus.

Boy, I sure do hope my writing is any good. (Like for my short story). Oh, I'll tell you this, for my next story I'm going to stick to first person narration. I kept accidentally slipping "I's" into the thing when it was supposed to be third person. Well, I can take the hint, I!

I need to do something else before I fall asleep, something stimulating, so that's going to be all she wrote for blog stuff, bye captive audience!