It is not as hot outside as I was expecting it to be today– which is to say, when I look outside nothing is obviously on fire.  That said, I have at least one customer out on the golf course at OtherJob right now who I am not entirely certain is going to survive the experience.  I’m comfortably ensconced in an air conditioned gameroom that hasn’t had many people breathing in it, so I’m doing fine– but I need to figure out how to get to my car at the end of the day without leaving the game room, which might be a bit tricky.

In other news, despite above-average caffeine consumption for the morning, I’ve been yawning for six solid hours and have formally taken next week off from OtherJob, meaning that my string of five straight six-day, 53-hour weeks is about to finally be snapped.  My day off yesterday featured taking my son to day care, grabbing breakfast, doing a competitive shop at a furniture store that I don’t work at (after waiting in the parking lot for 45 minutes because I couldn’t think of anything else to do to kill the time before the place opened) and then coming home and staring at a computer screen for two more hours before taking a three-hour nap.  Despite that, everyone in my house was still in bed before nine last night.  Needless to say, no fiction was written.  Once I leave here I have to go back to the other furniture store for a moment– I was informed that I had managed to miss a critical piece that we need to know the pricing of– and then off to my mom and dad’s for pizza with my brother and new sister-in-law, who I haven’t seen since their wedding.  I’m excited about it, but I also kind of wish I could find a way to have pizza and see family from my bed.

And then it will be Saturday, which is my Monday now, and everything will start over again.

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In other, entirely unrelated news: did anyone reading this post have a dad like this?  One of those “I’ll kill you if you touch my daughter” types?  I don’t know why, but I caught myself thinking about this type of guy (note: I do not have a daughter) earlier today, and it occurred to me that the way you treat your daughter’s boyfriends has got to be a reflection of the way you, yourself, treat and/or treated women.  I feel like it’s got to say something fucked up about you that you feel the need to go all alpha gorilla and shotgunny when some dipshit teenager comes near your daughter.

(The picture is probably a joke.  Almost certainly.  But we all know these guys exist.  Or maybe they don’t; I dunno, maybe it’s a stereotype that isn’t really real– the father of the only girl I ever really dated in high school was literally on another continent and I met very few dads in between her and the woman I ended up marrying.  Needless to say, by that point we were both grown and her dad very clearly understood that he no longer had any say in the matter one way or another.)

Any thoughts on that, anybody?