So I had to get up at six again this morning, for the fourth day this week, to work the death shift in the FiDi; for a job which I took on to forestall ever having to get up early again. I've spent an awful lot of pre-dawn time crashing around my room trying to put clothing on with no sense of balance and my tits freezing off. I have a simple method for the trousers which seems to work (for the moment): I put them down on the floor, step into them, fall asleep for a few more minutes, and, when I fall over, they ride up my calves about halfway. From there, it's only mildly painful to have to reach down and pull them the rest of the way.
Two guys from the roasting plant showed up at work this morning. They were unecessarily attractive and knew a lot about coffee and coffee making apparatus. I'm terribly glad that I don't blush visibly, since, for some reason, the uniform I wear tends to strip me of my cool as effectively as of my dignity. All efforts to talk to him involved me choking a great deal on my words and smoothing the apron down incessantly. Probably drove him nuts. There is perhaps something coating the maroon aprons or painted into the baseball caps which encourages high-school hormones to start running again. [LS, my boss, as we were walking over to V*g* to buy lunch the other day, starts talking about my new co-worker (another J, damn it!): "Yes, you [think he's hot] too? With that little spongey ass?" So let's call him JSA, then. JSA wears his baseball-cap slantwise and is reading Castaneda now. Huh. This location seems less intellectually-rigorous than the one in H*rv*rd Sq**r*.]
I made a rather-too-subtle (in retrospect) attempt to see if Roasting Plant Guy #1 [the one with the pinky ring, as opposed to the one who wore a platinum commitment-ring] was busy this evening, but then a customer came in. Gods damn it. Now, I like a good customer as much as the next employee, but I wish they'd wait for a sensible stopping point in a conversation before crashing into my space and demanding things of me. Speaking of customers, I made a small cappuccino for the Reptile Lady today. She's a stylish middle-aged Euro-woman, blonde, classy, nicely-manicured; you know the type. But she tends to select foamy drinks and then (when she thinks nobody's looking, she goes down on the cup. Discretely-like -- nobody's ever seen it happen -- but she licks the cup spotlessly clean. I can only presume her to have a long prehensile tongue. Also, she's been in twice this week and, "coincidentally" our fruit-fly problem vanished almost completely.
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Current music: Joh. Seb. Bach, "Es reisset euch ein schrecklich Ende" BWV 90. Bach Collegium Japan. Even the record store clerk, who looks like a young Rasputin with a braided beard, says it's a phenomenal disc. Earlier tonight, I was listening to Martial Arts Weekend, which almost makes me want to cry, it's so lovely.
Current aches: My back (from the mattress and this chair), my arm (from the surgery, which still acts ornery sometimes, and from lifting a huge box of cocoa today), my feet (although not so bad since I bought the shoe inserts), my eyes (from never sleeping).
Current victory: assembling "Ringo", a small black adjustable stool from Ikea, for use with the harpsichord.
Current reading: Will Self's Great Apes, which I like so far, even though it tends to direct my thoughts to either lust or chemical stimulus.
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Late breaking news: the world's yummiest goat-fucker.