It's a gorgeous day outside and people are absolutely mobbing the farmer's market, so parking is a hassle. But I don't get to browse the produce and people-watch, because I am here to work. It's crunch time at the office, and I've got some serious work to do. Which I am not currently doing, seeing as how I'm blogging about how much I resent being here. Which means I will be here that much longer.
I'm a little sleepy, a little dopey, and my thighs are burning up after an hour and a half in my desk chair. Maybe it's worse because it's Saturday, or maybe it's because I'm wearing shorts and the upholstery of the chair is right up against my skin. It helps that on a Saturday in the office the radio is just a little bit louder and the clothes just a little more comfy. Still, this is the kind of thing I worry about: sure, I can keep up on a regular workday, and at the end of the day, especially on Friday, I'm thoroughly whupped and cranky and ready for a bit of R & R over the weekend, but can I still keep up with the workload when I have to get up on Saturday and drag my sorry ass to work? Fortunately, this probably won't happen next weekend or the weekend after that. But it does make me think.
OK, back to work.