A Ghost in the Lasagna

A night full of twisting (but not twisted) thoughts left my eyes looking like they'd taken more bloodshots than a vampire on his 21st (century) birthday. I have now been here for three Sunday nights, and for two of them I have failed to initiate a timely sleep sequence. I must not be as completely acclimated to switching from work to play that I thought I was. I was finally able to go to sleep after counting foil-wrapped brains climbing a ladder. I distinctly said to myself: I am not going to count sheep… how ‘bout brains, wrapped in foil, climbing into the sky? Laugh if you will, but it worked, and I was only mildly braindead at work.

Monday was the start of my “every 20 minutes” experiment. My goal is to eat (or drink) calories every 20 minutes throughout the entire workday. I am trying to kickstart my metabolism again; my body has told me, in few words, that it is time to pause my assault against gravity’s hold on me. After about 16 months of steadily getting lighter, I have been at the same weight for about a year. Anyhow, turns out it is impossible to eat every 20 minutes – how practical is it to stuff dark chocolates down your shredder during a video-conferencing meeting? Every time I take a bite, I hear “Hey, that kids been eating dirt, get him outta here!” I’ve compromised (with myself,) and have decided to eat something small in every two hour increment throughout the day.

After work, I went for a jaunt through the corporate countryside with Summertime Susan. Keeping a good ratio of run to walk wasn’t nearly as hard as I thought it would be, and we ended up running about 3 out of the 4 miles. Shoulder to shoulder running makes time and feet fly, and it is much easier to talk about family, being homeschooled, and living la vida loca while sustaining a controlled breathing pattern than I ever imagined. I was invited to a lasagna dinner with Wisconsin and his female friend, and I couldn’t help but attend myself (people should attend themselves more often.) The main course was fronted by a strawberry vinaigrette salad, and posthumously flanked by some type of banana-crusted cake. It was delectable and truly invigorating, especially as it was accompanied by a documentary on the exuberant profitability of cocaine transportation from God-knows-where to Miami in the 1980’s.

On the long drive home, the locks on my car started seizuring and the lights began to dance. I turned down the radio and threatened the Intrepid, “If you keep it up, I’m going to pour acid on your VIN number and remove your brakes.” The dastardly ghost sensed the fallibility of my threat, and continued on for the entire ride.

Tuesday was eventful, if you equate full with less, and the day passed quickly. The highlights: a lethal few hours of volleyball and a quote from a colleague’s well-meaning and innocuous snippet of writing, “she was unsuccessful in finding her first period” (in reference to a girl’s first day in a new high school.)

Side note: while I write this, Chad chatters into a microphone outside my room door “My grid just failed. Shit, shit. Do you want me to flip the [unintelligible word] on? Should I shuffle the crodo-diz-bill? BEN IS DOWN! BEN IS DOWN!”

I also met with my manager, and the old tug-of-war/1-on-1 ended quickly when he found out I was a Portuguese man-of-war. He seems genuinely determined to rake the coals around me to make me glow. This is precisely what I need in a manager. He introduced me today to the rest of the team during a video conferencing meeting – and you could see from my visage on the big screen that I was ready to impress. I did the ever-impressive head nod at each of the team members overseas (Amsterdam, London,) and they looked back at me over steaming mugs of tea and biscuit crumbs.

We new hire sires had lunch at the mall today with some of the interns and a social hour after work with some hires from years past. On the way home, I stopped for a dairy treat, and picked up Revolutionary Road. This may very well make me the least eligible bachelor in my house.