Yesterday, after working from noon until closing (midnight), Vegas and I stayed up until 5 am, organizing papers and setting up things for his month-long absence. As the sun began to rise, we both began to fall, and we finally caved in to the fatigue. Vegas left this morning to go to Korea, and I found myself in the strange position of more or less being in charge of a bookstore when I opened the doors to the place a few hours later.
On four hours of sleep - had only after fifteen hours of work - I have just finished a ten-hour day. I spent it lifting, calling, filing, packing, ordering, and calculating. Afterwards, I rode home on my bike, and I felt that the last three days of intensive physical labor and not-so-intensive sleep has turned my legs to jelly.
But, I am not complaining. I am instead, in my usual sick and rather obsessive way, trying to get across how much I am loving my job. I'm giddy and motivated and energetic, and I have that fabulous feeling that always makes me think of that scene in Clueless when Cher decides to give Ty a makeover. She claps her hands excitedly and says, "PROJECT!" And that's what's so great about this gig: it's an enormous, difficult, and sort of scary project. I know that I have always been someone who works better when challenged, and suddenly being responsible - more or less - for the store's financial welfare, is oddly thrilling.
I had a bad moment today, but I am trying not to dwell on it. Instead, I'm already trying to think of maybe putting in some "overtime" to reorganize some things. But what's "overtime" when you never even stop to look at the clock?
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