09.04.03 - 4:30 p.m.

Tuesday: After fighting with the ever-mutating, extremely wet Figs pizza dough rounds during Queer Eye commercial breaks, attending to the soon-to-be-ice-cream dairy concoction simmering on the stove, I have no energy to turn on the computer. Also, I think I have carpal tunnel syndrome. For real this time. The flare-ups in my wee left pinky are getting worse. Perhaps I should stop shifting only with my left hand?

Wednesday: Ohhh-k. Champagne before lunchtime makes Casey a kind of wobbly worker. But the pizza made from the aforementioned Figs dough was damn, damn good. And I successfully caramelized onions in my cast-iron skillet. AND the homemade ice cream turned out well, if a little granular. Two out of three.

Today: I did something. I called an executive recruiter. It's a baby step. But after nearly breaking into tears TWICE at my desk, I realized something had to be done and quick.

I have nothing to say. My life is nothing to write home about.

Oh, I did get kneed in the back at the Counting Crows show and Dan nearly got into a fight with a hick at the Bruce show. Guess that's something.

And though work is nearly overwhelming me with its suckiness, I deal with it by sitting here eating potato chips (Cape Cod firecracker barbecue, of course) and journal-checking. Am I emailing the recruiter? No. Am I looking up hoitsy-toitsy ideas for our gift guide? No. After this, will I go read Gawker? Yes.

If anyone wants to hire me, I'm here. Don't much care what you want to hire me for.*

*Not really. I do have some boundaries. But if you want me to be a food stylist or something, that would be nice.