A 75-hour work week is lunacy. I know this. But, still, like a dumbass, I logged one last week.

Using temps, part-timers, and a batch of my homemade trucker speed, I put together our February issues — 384 pages, give or take — in five days. Except for Friday, there wasn't a single instance all week when I left for work and returned home the same day. I ate lunch at my desk, dinner at my desk, and watched the 5:00, 6:00 and 10:35 Simpsons every day. (Or at least parts of them; they were some real horseshit episodes that usually got clicked off quickly. Sideshow Bob in Italy. Lisa tap dancing. Mr. Burns trapped in a cave with that hothead Texan... Oy.)

Needless to say, I'm wiped. I spent the weekend sleeping and avoiding computer screens, and I'm feeling a little better, but the ol' brain is still a little soggy.

*****

Possibly related: I can't park anymore. At all. I was never a stellar parallel parker, but I could usually swing my rig into place without much trouble. Not anymore. I've completely lost it. I haven't parked once in the last two weeks without having to take several stabs at the job and getting super pissed and frustrated in the process. Dunno what the deal is or how to get my mojo back, but it's fucking emasculating.