Wednesday, Oct. 29, 2003 - 11:32 a.m.

5:15 a.m. Some mornings upon awaking I like to lay in bed and make a mental listing of goals I�d like to set for myself that are achievable throughout the day in an attempt to feel a continual proud sense of self and accomplishment.

5:16 a.m. Wide awake and feeling extra super and knowing it�s going to be the best day ever I decide to push the envelope and really stretch myself and set my sites high on some aspirations normally a tad out of my reach. Pondering an exhausting catalogue of potentials I make contract with myself to succeed in achieving the following:

1. I will arrive at work no later than one hour late.

2. During a road-rage tantrum my baseball bat will remain in the trunk of my car.

3. In a buzzed state of evaluation I will not have a fourth martini at lunch.

4. Should I come across any, I will not flirt with straight waiters.

5. After coming down from my liquid lunch I will not drown my sorrows with more than three bags of king-sized peanut M&M�s (and one Twix).

6. The Boss will not overhear me calling him a fat bastard.

7. No matter how hard I try I will not lose weight.

8. I will not go on and on to anybody who�ll listen about what a jerk my ex is and how selfish he was and how stupid I was to stay with him for 13 years and how insane he�d get and have major melt-downs over the most ridiculous things like the time he was convinced one pant leg was shorter than the other to such a noticeable degree that he wouldn�t go to my best friends birthday party because everyone would be able to tell and he wouldn�t change into one of the 35 other pairs of varying shades of gray dress pants he owns because they either didn�t fit right, too small or too big, or they didn�t go with the shirt he was wearing and he wouldn�t change his shirt because he just spent fifteen minutes ironing it and didn�t want to iron another one and didn�t want me to iron another one because he said I was too hard on his clothes and couldn�t run the risk that I�d scorch one of his precious shirts that he couldn�t possible replace because Gucci doesn�t make that color blue anymore in a slim fit so I told him that if he didn�t want to go to the party that was okay I�d go by myself but then he�d pout cause he didn�t have anything to do and didn�t want to stay home alone because it was Saturday night and there was nothing on television and would I go to Blockbuster for him and pick up a couple of DVD�s and would I also mind stopping at the grocery store and pick up some Ben & Jerry�s and since I had plans and was going out maybe he�d call his friend, Bruce, and see if he wanted to come over and hang out with him so he wouldn�t be bored and I said okay because I'm an idiot.

11:15 a.m. Shit, I�m more than an hour late for work!

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