Secret Pop

Feb 17, 2005

Full-On Morning

This makes two bleary nights in a row when I've stayed up working until well past seven a.m. This hour is so foreign to me, I'm tempted to stay up and experience it in some lifelike manner, but -- as I described it yesterday to a friend -- my head feels large and teetering and my teeth feel as if they have been biting each other all night. And I still have quite a bit of work to do, so I am cautiously hopeful that a few hours of shuteye will give me the juice to get to the end of this leg of the perpetual race to the end of my invoice. I am quite poor at the moment, so the mere utterance of the word "invoice" is like a beacon of hope on a bleak horizon. I wish the money that is owed me would arrive without my having to seek it out. It's such a graceless transaction. Even when I've earned it, I'm ashamed to hold out my hand. I know there are panhandlers with summer homes in Argentina and a Mercedes for each day of the week. But I have never been terribly enterprising, and I have no idea how one might address that on a résumé.

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