I somehow survived going to work today; getting up was painful, since I hadn't slept enough, but I managed to make myself look mostly presentable (translation: I looked pretty awesome, what with my green dress and cool belt, although the fact that I'd removed my toenail polish to check out the damage to my big toe and then couldn't wear close-toed shoes made my vanity feel a bit ashamed), and I arrived at the office exactly twenty minutes before my first meeting of the day. I'll take that as a success, even though I had too much work to get through in the time allotted.
But my first day back was positive, all in all; I really do like the majority of the people I work with, and while I'm still allowing myself at 10% hatred level (as I did in my senior year dorm), those 10% slots aren't always filled. So that's good news, right? I think it means I'm growing as a person! Or perhaps my rage is getting lazy. sssanyway, I had a good day back at work, finished it off with some particularly great meetings, and then spent an hour and a half driving home, which killed my buzz. When I got here I wanted nothing more than to crawl into bed, but I forced myself to start a load of laundry and go to my favorite French bistro, where I tiredly wrote four pages while drinking wine and eating steak to fortify myself for the slog. I think the pages were mostly good, but I'm so tired that I won't really know until I read them again tomorrow.
Now, though, I'm desperate for sleep, particularly since I have grand plans of getting up and writing before going to work, which seems like a fool's errand. Goodnight!
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