February 3rd, 18:17 | Also, I'm now addicted to caramel popcorn

On the way to work, on a clear day, it's super-easy to fall in love with my city. (As someone who knows her fair share of non-natives of the city, I realize there's quite a lot to hate. That said, there's a lot of quiet, pretty things -- just like with any place -- that never get publicized.) I love driving up to the top of the hill near my house, and looking down the road, into this valley that's usually a little misty, and then up the next hill, which is usually all twinkly with a long ribbon of oncoming headlights. The sky is usually all chalky-pinky-ish and it all looks like water-colour. It makes the whole drive worthwhile.

Today's epiphany was achieved riding the elevator up from the caf after the fourteenth time I went down for a refill of hot water. Anyone who tells you that Uncle Bill's Marmalade Goo (or whatever the Korean on the label says) doesn't work for sore throats is lying. Anyway, that wasn't it. The stunner was when I saw myself in the mirrored elevator walls and realized, dude, the key to having my hair behave and act like, you know, hair, is to brush it. That's right folks. That thing that all girls learn in grade 3 or before? Just got it. I'm catching up. Really.

I really do have only two modes : High and Off. I'm either keeling over from lack of energy (usually because there's nothing to keep me busy -- in this state, I can't even muster up the energy to write an email), or I'm swamped and working non-stop for hours. Which is fine. Apparently much like my Walk Or Run, Don't Jog thing, I can't handle a nice sane level of work. I get the feeling this is something I'm going to need to change if I want to live past 35.

All my thoughts today are work-related. Because really, my whole life revolves around work these days, as I came to realize on Tuesday night. That's right, folks, I can't handle my work-life balance and the result is that I Am A Crappy Friend (and Daughter).

Depending on the week I spend either 11 or 9 straight hours at the office, it's a commute of about a half-hour each way. So I wake up, feel exhausted, walk into the bathroom and hope that the blinding lights and white walls will wake me up a little. I'll dress, drive to work, admire the view (when applicable), get to work and either be zombie-state or frenzied and perky all day. Most days I then drive home, eat, and collapse. (You'd think I have so much time when I'm done work; I think so too somedays. Then I get home, and it disappears.)

Sometimes I'll fence (read: get stabbed and become short of breath in the process) or do tai chi (which, I must say, has the evening-out power of yoga on my mood, but still leaves me wiped, or I go to class (quite interesting, but more than blotted out by the mind-numbing drive there; the drive back is sometimes refreshing, sometimes painful), or to my lab (see above comments about the drive).

lilephyte, you say, you're just a no-energy corporate drone because you're not trying to work any balance in, you 'tard. Also, you need to get off your ass more, because then you'd *have* more energy. I know. And I'm trying. What frustrates me most is that I'm not getting anywhere, obviously, since not a week goes by without at least one person telling me I'm an ass for not spending more time with them/calling them/writing them/whatever. And they're all right. And I can't help it, I'M TRYING. Feel free to ignore me and write me off until I get it right. I'll understand, believe me.

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