Is it really only Tuesday? This week feels like it should be done already.

Checked on the cats this evening for Richard. They’re still alive. Boris was tres fussy, and Natasha was calmer than she’s been in ages.

Went out this weekend, had vodka for the first time in forever. Ugh. I remember why I’ve not been indulging in that particular vice of late. Monday was less than pleasant, though not entirely miserable. Won’t be repeating that particular slip until after the IM, I think.

Happy Hogswatch to all, and to all a good night.

At my last job I used to have this little routine. Someone would come into my office, frantic, saying something to the effect of, “Moose, I need help!” to which I would reply, “Well, my degree is in law, not psychology, but I’ll do my best…”

It usually slowed them down long enough to take some of the edge off the “ZOMGWTF!” attitude.

Today’s been one of those days. Everything has been ZOMGWTF!!! in intensity. And the one office still has not learned the phrase “admission against interest.” I swear, the brain needs to engage before the mouth. Or fingers.

Yet another reason I’m going to hell: I like to watch DC parking enforcement come down and ticket the tourists cars illegally parked past the rush hour start time on Independence Avenue. If it’s a really slow day they’ll even tow them, leaving some family of blond-headed kids and their fanny-pack wearing parents scratching their heads and frantically calling to find out where there car is, just like the ones sitting on the concrete barrier directly across the street from my office window right this moment.

I got hit by a bird when we first started up. Two birds were either fighting or fucking, but in any case they came swooping down in the road, not looking where they were going, and one of them smacked me. Never before have I felt like Fabio. No blood, no scratch, thankfully.

You can tell it’s spring pollen season when you look down and your tire is a lovely shade of light yellow. Ick.

Despite the bird incident it was a good ride. Overcast, cool, mid-60s. The rain that looked threatening never happened, so it was smooth sailing. Got dropped, as I expected, but no worries there, I just got in a good ride, keeping the cadence up and attempting to keep the heart rate at a decent level. Was a tad high, but it’ll get better as the season progresses.

A small plane hit a condominium highrise in Manhattan this afternoon. No terrorism suspected at this time. (see any news site for details)

And yet, despite reading “no connection to terrorism,” upon seeing the images, the chest still grows tighter, the the pulse quickens, the stomach gets all flustered, and feelings from five years ago return.

I suppose this is the side effect of living in the other metropolitan area to get hit back then. Not that I want to move, and not that I feel particularly unsafe here in DC, but it does make me wonder if those feelings will ever fade or if they’ll still this vivid for the rest of my life.

I sat down in the bathroom, for the usual reasons. The middle stall, beside me, was occupied. Soon he took some paper off the roll. And then some more. And then again. It didn’t sound like he was blowing his nose, but he kept taking off bits of paper, with only seconds in between each burst of unrolling. Then he flushed. And then started again with the paper. And flushed again. This happened (flushing and continued rolling) at least twice while I was in the stall, and once more when I was washing my hands.

This after noticing that the jerk who uses the paper hand towels to cover the seat instead of the perfect good (and flushable) seat cover things (he regularly clogs up one of the toilets in the bathroom, which doesn’t get fixed for days on end afterward) must’ve been in the stall I picked sometime before I was, because there were extra towels on the floor around the toilet.

I work with some really freaky men.