10.1.98
 10 o'clock and thirteen minutes in the a.m.

    The polka plays on.

    I just got up. This is bad. A descent into slovenliness. What to do today? I guess I need to go turn in that application and pick up another from a different store that I know is hiring. I can't decide how to react to what I'm doing.

    On the one hand, it's a job. It's a job that really doesn't seem awful. I'm not going to be covered in fry grease at the end of the day. Of course, it's not like I've been hired yet. That would be just lovely, wouldn't it? To not get hired for this.

    On the other hand, I feel as though it is beneath me. I feel like I should have been able to do better. I have a college degree and worldly experience. I'm talented at many different things and, gosh darnit, people like me.

    More polka.

    I have now turned on the Squirrel Nut Zippers...loud. You know how some people get latched onto a song and they will play it over and over and over again. What sort of cruel irony is it that my upstairs neighbor's favorite song is a Spanish Polka with a robust TUBA section?!?! It's the same damn song over and over. At first I thought it was just tuba but now that she's got it up louder I can faintly hear the vocals which are Spanish.

    Polka THIS you freak!

 2 o'clock in the p.m.

    All is quiet now. Just got back from the gym. Another boxing workout. I can tell that I'm getting stronger because I'm not feeling so herky jerky when I work out. My hits are solid and well-aimed. I'm not hurting my hands nearly as much.

    The most difficult hit to do well is the hook. You really have to reach around and then make sure to land the punch on your first two knuckles. If you don't get a solid connection or if your wrist isn't stiff enough then a painful shock goes through every fiber of your hand. Each tendon screams out. No permanent damage is done but it'll hurt for a good 15 minutes at least. Thankfully, I'm getting better at it. It hurts good enough to remind you to keep your wits about you.

    I am probably the most unfit person in that gym. Well, I hope I'm exaggerating but I feel pretty gross compared to some of the lithe über workout freaks. Actually, I'm not too bothered by it. Once you start hitting the bags it's hard to care what other people may or may not be thinking. The only people who really bug me are the peppy, over-makeupped, over-haired, push-up bra wearing, platform-clog clomping, small backpack-toting bitchy girls employed to work the front desk. They tend to be somewhat snide to a person like me. I am always very surprised when one of them treats me with decency.

    Today, however, there was a guy at the front desk who was daaaamn cute. Medium height, blonde hair, broad shoulders and smiling, blue eyes that said, "Why don't you come over here and let me give you a foot massage." Hey, that's what they said to me, okay? If I hadn't been drenched with sweat, red in the face and still panting I might have thought up some reason to chat him up. He seemed nice, too. Polite. Probably gay.

    *sigh*

    Yeah, I know I'm married — shut up!

    *sigh*

    In other news... I have several big, honkin' pimples. I know you want to hear all about them, too. The thing is that overall I have always had pretty decent skin. I was lucky to never have to go through acne problems in high school and I only wash my face with cool water. But, these are the worst kind. They are the ones that start deep, deep within your skin and you can only deal with them by clawing your face up.

    I have one in the crease of my nose — very annoying and another emerging on my chin. It's a reoccurring nightmare, that one. I swear that I get it in the same spot every time. Actually, this time it's special — it's a binary. One pimple with a smaller pimple caught in orbit around it.

    Ick.

    Do you think it has anything to do with stress? The last two weeks have been such utter and complete hell. I really wish I didn't have to go out and apply for jobs that I feel are beneath me with giant pustules on my face. The day's second cruel irony.

 5 o'clock and 50 minutes in the p.m.

    Well, instead of going out and dropping that application off I conked out. Completely. I woke up about twenty minutes ago and got dressed and ready to head out. Complete confusion ensues. Then, I realize, that I haven't gotten one drop of caffeine today. So, I've got a cup of coffee and I'm going to finish off this entry and then bear the traffic to go drop off this damn application.

    T. should be home right now but he's not. I guess this is something that I'm going to have to deal with for the rest of our days together. Usually, when he dashes off after work to the gym or out for drinks or when he just lollygags around the office I think he's avoiding me. Nine times out of ten, he is. Whatever. This passive-agressive thing gets really annoying. I was thinking about making some dinner for us since I slept instead of getting anything done but I can't really do that if he's not going to show for another hour or two.

    Is a call too much to ask for?

    A week or so ago he was watching teevee and I wanted to just chat with him. Several tries and I realized I wasn't going to get a word out of him. So, I said, "If I leave you alone to veg for an hour then can we talk." And he says, "No, go ahead, I'm listening."

    But, of course, he wasn't listening and several hours later I told him that I was serious about my offer and why didn't he take me up on it? Why say you're listening when you have no intention of doing so?

    Today's third cruel irony is that I'm complaining about my man not listening to me and I'm married to him. Sheesh.