Here is (some) of what I wrote at work:

My stomach is tugging at my shirt and my teeth are tingling, pleading
lay off the coke,
lay off the coke.

But I got a filet mignon for free today. Damn this hotel restaurant thing definitely has its perks.

And there was a patron today with the cutest little boy ever who lived in Maryland all his life before he moved to Atlanta about eight years ago, and now he comes back to Maryland a couple of times every year to visit. It was like I was looking into another dimension. He gave me a three dollar tip. I gave him a free coke. We bonded. His kid is painfully adorable.

Also there was a group of people that rafted in on the tropical storm named after our chef. And a couple of high school leadership conference kids who knew LurryHogan and Diane were trying to sneak around room service bans. And it was actually busy and even though I was discombobulated it was way better than the usual want-to-slit-my-wrists-just-for-something-to-do shit. And I got another threatening letter from Adam the Yankee, wanting his damn hat back. The hotel business is an interesting business. Good characters abound. If I wasn't a lazy bitch I'd write about it. Damn me and my writer's block.

My little emoticon has said "tired" for a really long time. It's going to stay that way awhile, methinks. Sorry little emoticon man. You're stuck with my tired ass.

ink :: graphite