You know what sucks about having a sore right-shoulder? Waking up in the morning, realizing you’ve slept the whole night on your side with an arm now very achy and sore, and realizing that it will hurt too much to, er, pleasure myself while in bed. And, seriously, if you can’t be not-the-master of your own domain in your own bed, what’s the damn point?

I’m so sleeping on my stomach tonight. Or my back. Or my left-side. Or something that does not interfere with my Sunday morning self-pleasuring.

Sometimes, moving fragile Lego castles across one’s living room can be detrimental to the physical well-being of said castle.

The damage report? A good chunk of the topmost portion of the really tall tower came down. So did the owlry. Nothing irreperable, thankfully. Those repairs, however, are going to have be a project for post-finals.

Compare the bottom photo — notice my artful illustration of the damaged sections — to this photo from my Brickshelf gallery.

Monday, featuring a few hours of work, specialty cooking and dinner and a movie with a friend seemed more like a weird Friday night where traffic wasn’t crappy and I didn’t work the evening.

Tuesday, the last day of class for me before Thanksgiving Break, seemed like Thursday. It seemed like Thursday because Thursday is the last day of classes for me before a four-day break from class.

Wednesday, the day before Thanksgiving, felt like Friday. Traffic was shitty, everyone seemed to have “workitis”, and it was busy. Zebulon was observed taking forever to make pizzas. Tips were across the board — from great, to shitacular. Of course, Wednesday felt like a weird Friday because Fridays I work entirely at the Indy now.

Thursday felt like Sunday. Again, an odd Sunday, because I wasn’t working. So, a Thursday I didn’t work felt like a Sunday where I wasn’t working.

Friday felt like Saturday.

Saturday is probably going to feel like a mid-summer (i.e., “dead slow”) Sunday.

Frankly, after most of a week feeling like days that aren’t the day they are, I’m really hoping that Sunday feels like Sunday. Y’know. A good old-fashioned “Football Money Sunday.”

(Big Shout Out to Gary’s Accountant and Payroll effers, who apparently didn’t get the checks out in time for them to be delivered today. Here’s hoping they arrive tomorrow, otherwise, that money won’t be able to get to my checking account until Wednesday night. No big, I’m comfortably in the black, even with several hundred smackers in bills in the mail).