In which I’m back in Indy.

I drove up to Chicago — Oak Brook, actually — on Wednesday night. Saw Mother, ate a lot of Indian food. (I always eat like I’m starving when I go to see Amma.) Drove back this morning. Can I say that the stretch of Interstate called I-294/I-80 is a TOTAL PIECE OF FUCKED UP SHIT? Jesus.

Got maybe seven hours of sleep — total — while I was gone, and most of that was had in the back of the Exploder in the parking lot of a Marriott.

Rolled in here half past noon, saw the guys, cleaned the room and gave them shit about being sloppy pigs. Listened to them go on cheerfully about work, about this Sub 2 and that contract. Then they left to do a scope and I passed out in bed.

They rolled in a few hours later, giddy with the success of their trip to Sam’s Club, but I couldn’t be bothered to wake all the way up. I heard them stacking stuff on top of the TV cabinet; turns out it was two cases of water, a case of Red Bull, and a case of Frappuccino. And a wheel of brie. And stuffed salmon steaks.

When I did wake up, they returned, and sent me to the store. Then we BBQ’ed. I had salad, tuna, French bread and brie, and grilled french fries. I’d had nothing all day but caffeine so it was delicious and much needed.

Now it’s a quarter to ten and I’m reeeeeally sleepy. *Yawn.*

I’m writing a huge overview of my wonderful, restorative Amma trip, but it’ll have to wait ’til tomorrow to be posted ’cause it’s only half done and I don’t have it in me to finish it now.

In other news, I guess we’re staying on here in roofing land. Which means I have to email LISCO this weekend and tell them I won’t be back… for an indefinite period. I’m betting I’ll have to quit, but maybe they’ll rehire me when we get back.