I�m such a fool. I could have been working 40 cushy hours, with health insurance, for a year. Ha ha ha ha ha I hate myself. So the short story is, for anyone who is still reading this, keep the faith and don�t hold your breath � it may be a while. April 19 is my drop-dead for the entire writing phase of the project, after which I may be able to breathe a little easier or, hell, I may drop dead. Tomorrow�s the last day I can sign up for next semester�s classes, and this is absurd but I don�t know if that�s not foolish too but how can that be, it�s so unfair I�m afraid I�m going to try to buck it just on principle and then I�m going to end up in a world of pain; if my birthday thing wasn�t already a going concern I�d wait-�til-next-year it to buy myself another evening on the 23rd floor. When it started to get ugly earlier this week, I briefly entertained the fantasy of going on strike or whatever � if I quit it would take them at least a week to get someone else in, and that person wouldn�t have all my notes because in this fantasy I have taken them with me and thus this other person and the whole gob are both s.o.l. � but then my manager asked me if I might possibly be interested in staying on to work on another project after this one�s over and of course I would, I had to morph from disgruntled to smiley right there in his office and then he said Great, and if you wouldn�t mind, Bob�s been pressed for time and we�d both really appreciate it if you could pitch in and help him finish up with this other thing he�s working on, and, and, shit. And of course it took about three times as long as it should have, and while I was working on it the thing I�m supposed to be writing got two fat sections added to it that I�m going to have to go out and research because there�s no documentation of it on the scene, and then today while I was just starting to get disgruntled-in-spite-of-myself all over again � remember, today is Saturday � I got cc�d on an e-mail spelling out that the potential new project I got approached about is in fact a two-year contract with full benefits. Shit fuck damn hell, you know? Steve is at the dock where the Somerset swings wide and I don�t even care. I went in on Saturday and I did the work. I did the best I could and, no brag, more than I suspect most people would have. I want to take the classes, though. And move, and paint the new apartment, and not crack up, and be away because I�m travelling to Catharine�s father�s retirement party the first Friday in May and then to Steve�s employer�s ship party the one after. And, if it�s not too much to ask, not to crack up.

Astoria was great, as per. Turns out the bartender at my official favorite watering hole there has a gentleman friend in NYC � her son worked as a model there for several years � who has a line on rent-controlled apartments, and she said she�d put us in touch with him if we wanted to move there. Needless to say I tipped like Trump, just in case we decide to take her up on it. (Or is the Donald like certain high-school friends of mine who have built their fortunes partly on the compound interest of the money that�s left over from tipping like chumps?) I saw a personal ad in the Stranger that had in it "must enjoy chai," I am not kidding. A few days ago at work I kept trying to type "standalone" and the beginning kept coming out "satan" and that�s about the size of it.

This entry doesn�t mention the NCAA tournament. Let the record show that this kills me. Aiee. I'm so depressed, I can�t bring myself to return people�s calls to my cell phone about it, the can-you-believe-it and the oh-man-I�m-hosed. You know that sign that smartass (or do I mean jaded?) Cubs fans like to hold up on opening day? Wait �til next year!