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<!-- December 3, 2003 -->
Sitting here in the semi-darkness, listening to Beethoven, winding down from a tough night.
The white dress shirt I borrowed from Scott - far too big - has long since been untucked, the sleeves rolled up, two buttons holding it together in the middle. My tie is hanging over the arm of the couch.
I run my hands through my tussled hair. It's been a long day. So little sleep, so much work, rushing from one job to the next, serving, serving, always with a smile, a witty comment and a bit of grim determination to stay cheerful. Chatting with the high-powered executives. Astounding them with my knowledge of food and wine, or - failing that - my unfailing charm. My face hurts from smiling.
My muscles slowly relax. Biceps uncurl, shoulders fall, fingers and neck soften. My eyelids droop to half-mast, a slow, satisfied smile on my lips as I think about the sleep that I shall soon enjoy. The anticipation is agony, but I cannot get up to make all the necessary arrangements.
Instead, I savour my quiet moment with Beethoven as he coaxes my breath deep into my lungs.
And I think the only thing better would be if he could draw me a bath and give me a nice massage. Perhaps I am already dreaming....
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Cursing:
Catering
Weather:
Humid, 25+ degrees
Reading:
Goose Girl By Joy Dettman
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