I am having difficulty believing today is Friday. It just does not feel very Friday. There are two ways I can be sure that it is, in fact, the end of the week: 1) today is Bagels-At-Work Day, and 2) Cheryl was bartending by herself last night, which only happens on Thursdays. Not the most reliable method of marking the passage of time, to be sure -- but it serves its purpose.
Last night was...interesting. It started as a lovely evening with the Shiv and Company, including a whole steak just for me. She is three kinds of moony about a boy, but seems to insist on speaking ill of the situation, which in turn necessitates me forcing her to knock on wood. (My superstitions are rather randomly selected from those available, but the ones that have somehow managed to grab hold of my brainstem are almost painfully ingrained.)
After I had finally made it to my bed, Union Worker's friend called. Seems he had missed a train and needed a place to sleep -- so, our apartment being the flophouse it is, the Klaus was offered. A few hours later, he appears with friend in tow, and I was reluctantly dragged out of bed by my own libido. Damn boys for being pretty and being in my house and being alluring and slouched and half-lidded and spread-legged and lazy-smoking and slow-smiling. And double damn boys for stripping down for sleep, stretching, sultry, while framed in my bedroom doorway after I had finally retreated to my down comforter. And triple damn my own hormones for never, ever, just shutting the fuck up.
At least I have my "Breakbeat Techno Anthems" to comfort me.