"Tooling Home, Circa June 4, 2006"

Me and ol' Betsy, my trustful companion and car, a Buick btw, merged onto the fast lane of the interstate tonite and headed home to the Pond.

Earlier this morning I attempted to arise at 8:00 but was unsuckcessful. Not sure what was wrong-maybe it was my achy legs from yesterday, or maybe it was dehydration ( sometimes I forget to consume my daily quotient of H2O ), or maybe I was just plain forkin' tired. The restaurant biz will do that to you, as each day on one's watch, one is subjected to tons of passive-aggressive mentalities.

It took me until 10 to manage the fortitude to drag myself into the shower. Kept hittin' the snooze alarm over and over. Even the array of phone calls-most from Kitty who was making sure yours truly had awakened from his golden slumbers, and the others were calls from p.a. types that work with me, couldn't stir me from my z's.

I was in la-la land as I lay, tossin' and turnin,' in the bed. I wanted out of my agony. "Someone, shoot me please and get me out of my misery." At least it was Sunny, er, Sunday and my type-A personality boss man would not be in attendance. Shirley, he was standing in line at the AYCE breakfast bar filling his rotund tummy, or he was still alsleep with his phone turned to messages only. Blackberry, smackberry.
I thought about calling in sick but because I hadn't done so in 14 years, and didn't really know how, and for some reason wanted to keep my streak alive, the thought quickly left my feeble brain.

The buzzer for the alarm was ringing in my spaced-out brain; somewhere the strength to fall onto the floor came from somewhere. How I made it to the shower is debatable-haven't got the foggiest clue. I turned on the water and made a pit stop to the toilet, doing my thing after a long, frenetic sleep-if you can call it that.

I sat not standing in the small cubicle known as the shower; the tub which looms to the right of the former, depending, of course, which direction one is facing, was ruled out as an option. My big arse ciovered the drain hole, so every now and then it behooved me to lift it to allow the water to escape. Man, I hadn't felt like this in years. Exhausted, tired, kaput, fini' was I. Even the water which was pounding my salt and pepper hair couldn't shake my zombie-like state.

I wanted to die. Well, not really. I just wanted to go back to sleep. I stayed in there until the water turned cold, a good 45 minutes or so later. I kept lifting my fanny and creating all kinds of different positions as my head continued to droop, much like another part of my body which requires a blue pill to stand at attention.

Stumbling out from behind the curtain, even an early morning cigarette failed to please. Then the obligatory chores to get ready. Shave, hair drying, teeth brushing, gargling, scratching, clothes put on, another cigarette, coffee, breakfast, more cigarettes, etc.

I turned the key in the ignition of ol' Betsy. Still hungover and my eyes glazed, we backed out of the driveway. I downed 4 ibuprofen and soon was feeling like my old self-well, maybe 80 %. We got to work, and me and Betsy bade adieu. For the next ten hours, it was deal with passive aggressive types until the shift ended.

Maybe it was a slight virus-who knows?-but the catfish was mired in a funk when he awoke this Sunny, er, Sunday morning. Thank God it ain't like this all the time. As me and ol' Betsy tooled home, we both relished the moment, cos we would soon be home.