Workaholics Aonymous

I've been working like a rabied dog on speed. It's insane. I keep telling myself, only X days to the weekend. I have no life - I haven't even had time to parade around my apartment in the new shoes that I bought!! Check this out. On a side note, after 4.5 years, I have decided to retire my classic Camper bowler sneakers. I've been feeling little drafts coming in from the sides, and that tells me that it's about time to let it go. You've been wonderful to me, Camper. I love you. You complete me. *weep*

Anyway, as I was saying, I really should be doing my work right now. Honestly though, it's wearing me down. I feel unhealthy and fatigued. But today, I can tell myself, only ONE more week. After next week, perhaps life will be a little more normal. I've been travelling back and forth between Manhattan and Laaawwwwng Island three tooyyyymes a week. That's how New Yaawwwkers speak. Seriously.

After coming back from Lawng Island at around 8 (commute is 1.5 hrs each way), I continue with the work on my previous project. It's mentally challenging just knowing that you can't come home to a break. I'm a permanent fixture at the dining table in my living room. I've had some pretty interesting experiences work-wise though. My biggest complaint is the damn bloody commute. I'll be transitioning to a new role in a few weeks time. What that is, I have no clue. All I know is that I'm moving on to, umm, bigger and better things. Maybe.

I'm probably partly ranting because I don't want to work. I'll leave this blog entry on a parting story. I met the scariest taxi driver in New York, ever. You know how people make fun of NY taxi drivers coz they can't drive? Well, this one REALLY couldn't drive. First of all, he wasn't shifting the gears correctly, and clearly wasn't hitting them with the right acceleration, coz the cluth smelled like it was BURNING the entire 15 minute journey. Second of all, the FIRST question he asked me (when I told him to take the FDR) was, "Oh, how do I get to FDR?" I almost flipped. There are two highways in Manhattan. You have to know where they are, coz they bloody outline Manhattan! And there's only two. It's not like the GRE where you get a manual of words to memorize. Anyway, we finally made it downtown, but not before getting into three almost-accidents because he also doesn't know how to check his blind spot and switch lanes at the same time. The nail in the coffin was when he dropped me off at the West Side highway, right after the Brooklyn tunnel. I paid him, and was getting out the cab. But then he stops me, turns around and says, "Excuse me, how do I get to Manhattan?" OMG, you ARE in Manhattan.

I can't deal with you when I'm working 18 hour days dude.