The cheesesteak barometer

Last night's show? A stinker. The audience? Me? I don't really care.

How much do I not care? I didn't crave ice cream after the show.

That's apathy of an unprecedented sort, but I'm not worried. It will pass.

Actually, after about a week, I'm guessing. I am on vacation, and though I didn't really plan this, having the week off after the exhausting enterprise that was Take Our Daughters and Sons to Work Day is a gift.

Realized a vacation was a really good idea when I found myself getting testy at the cafeteria this afternoon. Over a cheesesteak. I'm really rarely one to fuss, but today I was G**damned if I was going to let the lady behind me in line get a cheesesteak when I had been in line longer.

I felt like crap most of the afternoon over this episode, even though that cheesesteak was rightfully mine. (Recovering Catholic is a misnomer--we never recover.)

However, when one finds oneself in high dudgeon over a cheesesteak, it is time to take a step back and say, "What's going on here?"

I know, not to worry. I'm exhausted and my nerves are shot. A dear friend from the old days used to point at his wrist when highly irritated and say, "See this? This is my last nerve, and you're stepping on it!" Well, my last nerve was shot about 18 hours ago, so this vacation is happening at an opportune time.

Wish it could have happened before The Cheesesteak Incident, but that's my life in a nutshell. (In sum: This gal must do something really embarrassing before she GETS IT.)

Today was not all shot nerves and embarrassment. Received some nice kudos re the aforementioned nightmare of a project, and had a nice chair massage after lunch. (Yes, one can get a chair massage in the building I work in--Corporate America ain't all bad.) I haven't indulged myself in such fashion in ages, and it felt great--I was loose as a goose after that, and think I may have to find a way to work a chair massage into my regular rotation.

But now, now I need to go to sleep. This day has been more than enough.