Groundhogs are lying bastards

This week is making me landsick. Monday was unremarkable. Tuesday was great fun. We had pączki at work to celebrate Mardi Gras and at the game that evening I greeted everyone at the door with a string of purple beads and served them all Sazeracs. The next day I was completely out of sorts, I didn't want to deal with humanity at all but I had a supplementary condo meeting to attend about a huge surge in assessments.

Then today came and I had a busy productive morning at work but the tuna melt I had lunch which is usually fine is giving me grief and ruining my afternoon. Perhaps my evening as well. I'd planned to head down to Lakeview, where a guy I kind of like is performing at a restaurant I don't hate, but that prospect is a whole lot less enticing if I'm fighting off reflux. Oh well, do the thing and hope for the best.

At the very least it would be break from routine, which the unrelenting cold is making even more deadening. I'm keenly aware when I get home how little has changed since the early days of Monshu's demise. I still haven't rationalised my expenses or made in improvements in preparation for selling or even cleaned out much crap. If you discount Pasillero, there's no new man in the picture and I've tried to think as little as possible about what I want to do for the rest of my life.