Boy troubles aside, life in Phoenix is only so-so.
Adjusting to the 9-to-5 is a little more than I expected after four years of night work. It all works out to about the same, though, in terms of visible sunlight. Since it’s more like Noon to 10pm that I work, I go in when its sunny, and leave when it’s dark, exactly to opposite of what I used to do. Only now it’s five to six times a week instead of four. Yay, 50-hour work weeks; more work for the same pay!
As a result, I haven’t been keeping up with the BBC or NPR as much as I used to. Even my newspapers and newsmagazines end up unread. If it weren’t for the television in the breakroom at work, I wouldn’t know that fifteen English seamen were shanghaied by the cast of Seinfeld, or something like that. And since I don’t have a television–I’m holding out for an LCD model–I’m resigned to getting my news from Wait, Wait & Le Show on the weekends, if I can catch the live broadcasts, or get the podcasts before they disappear out of my aggregator. By that time they’re nearly a week old, and what good is four-day-old news, anyway?
Hey, but it’s not all that bad; until the temperatures start climbing into the lower hundreds, I can bake as many cupcakes as my little freezer can hold.
And I intend to find out just what that number is.
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