Every evening this week, I've hoped for quiet time; to read or clean the apartment. But every night I've had something going on. I end up not getting anything done; and worse, not turning in until at least midnight.

That's the way the cookie crumbles. Monday, I drove to my friend D's house in Kentucky for pizza and laughs: I'm happy that my move up here hasn't impacted any good friendships. Then I had my date on Tuesday. Wednesday I spent time looking for job sites on-line -- I even applied for one. (My first, electronically. A management job in "the financial services industry". It sounds horrible. No cover letter, too; isn't that weird?)

Thursday I worked out at the gym and moving garbage (the old dining room ceiling) out to the curb. Sounds like a Beatles song, eh?

Tonight, I'm heading off to the opera. Rigoletto. Which my friends are calling Rigotoni, ah haa haa. I'm going with hushpuppy darnitall. I'm meeting him and his high-powered BIPC friends beforehand at a revamped downtown loft.

*sigh* More networking opportunities?

I don't know. They're all engineers, and I have no background -- or interest -- in that. Instead, perhaps I can get them to comment on how they survive mind-numbing careers. On second thought, as I help them uncork another bottle, I don't think I need to ask...

And on that note
I haven't been drinking as much since the move back to Dayton. I don't know if I would be a "problem drinker", and I enjoy drinking with friends; but it's also wise to discourage a malignancy that might come from my current environment.

I'm also a jerk
I never called Jumpseat back. I said I would. He's already called twice. (I can tell with a cell phone.) I was planning to tell him "It's not you, it's me," then we could be friends and go to a movie, maybe.

What I want is to find a bit of calm.

Hell, my life is a Beatles' song...