First I text the following message to my now former coworker at about 7:15 a.m:
She immediately responded with:
Thanks butthead, now go back to bed.
This is the same poor girl, who as my last week wore on and it became increasingly clear that there were more than a few things I'd be unable to wrap up in time, will now be buried under a mound of work for the next 1,762 years.
Then I watched about 15 minutes of WGN "news." The broadcasters, who I think are pretty funny and basically run the show as if they think no one is watching, were badgering a couple of dorky Indy newscasters over Sunday's Superbowl when I turned the tv on. When they were sick of talking to the Indy folks, they started doing the "what? what? we can't hear you? wha. . .?" and then pulled the plug.
After that it was time to do something called "working out." I gave my apartment a whore bath, gave myself a whore bath and hit the coffeehouse where I'm now typing into the blogosphere.
Isn't this the sweetest cake ever?
When you're single, live alone, and only see your friends a few hours a week, by and large you are spending the bulk of your days with your colleagues. So in my mind, you sure as hell better like them and I did. Apparently they liked me as well.