It’s late Sunday night and I’m exhausted. I spent the whole weekend working thinking about doing some work and now I’m weak and drained. I realized that this job is causing me to put many of my plans on hold, including my plan to live a life of leisure. Not that I’m complaining (much). All is well on the managerial front. I’ve created spreadsheets for the first time since high school (me + Google Documents = <3), my desk is pretty clean (halle-freakin’-lujah) and so far, no one has yelled, cried or threatened to sue. Go me.

What else? Uhhhhhhhhhh … hmmmmmmm … errrrrrrrrrrrr. I dunno. I stayed at Matt’s house for a few days during the week. (The parentals are on vacay! Yes, we’re 15!) It’s always kind of weird when we’re together on work nights. He’s like all mean mature and stuff. Don’t ride the exercise bike. You’ll get all sweaty before dinner. Don’t lay on the floor. Help clean up. Blah blah blah. He says we have to practice being grownups. I guess he’s right. So I’ve been really trying to do that. And it’s been going OK. Today, I procrastinated on this story I need to write (minus 1) by cleaning my room (plus 1). I’m, like, par. Which is good, right?