Tired.

Sick.

How many times have I started a post with those two words.

Tired.

Sick.

Quite a bit.

I am. Tired. Sick.

Dallas.

They have been moved to their new temporary Regus space.

They are all setup and good to go, for the most part. They can operate well, if I leave.

All of their stuff has been moved to storage.

All in all, it was a good move. It was an easy trip.

It was a long fucking week with long days, but I got the job done with minimal help or effort.

In and out.

That’s how I like it.

In and out.

The only thing that remains is getting them on their own private vlan, so I can set up their network printing.

Regus’s IT is slow.

That’s what their receptionists told me.

I’m aware.

Slow.

One of the ports is still down on Friday. They have a ticket open. Let’s see what happens on Monday.

I got a few hours left of work before I head to the airport.

Ideally, I want to wrap everything up and leave them at the best place before I leave.

Right now, they are just at a good place.

I want to finish everything, but it’s out of my hands.

So out of my hands.

* * *

Sick.

I knew it was going to happen.

I had a feeling.

It’s hot in Dallas.

I mean, fucking melt your skin off, dry dry heat.

100s.

I shit you not, triple digits.

It’s hot on the outside, but when you get inside a building, AC blasts its frigid breath so that you’ll need to wear an extra layer or two to feel comfortable.

I’m in a hoodie and that’s still not enough. I manage.

Sick.

That’s where I am now.

Sick.

In a hotel room.

Sunday.

My last free day before another work week starts and I’m not out exploring the city.

I don’t want to do anything today.

I want to lay in bed, in this hotel room, watching Netflix and resting.

That’s all I want to do.

I don’t want to socialize. I don’t want to talk to anyone.

I just want to rest.

Sick.

Tired.

That’s what I did yesterday.

I went to an early screening of Sicario: Day of Soldado at the Alamo Drafthouse and then had a long lunch next door.

It was a relaxing morning and early afternoon.

My first experience with the pretty cool theater chain.

The food at the Yard House wasn’t bad. I sat at the bar.

Instead of choosing a tv with the World Cup on, I sat in front of a tv that had the Cornhole championships.

What is Cornhole?

FUCKING BEAN BAG TOSS.

Holy fucking shit. Fucking BEAN BAG TOSS has a name AND fucking holy hell, it’s a televised sport.

I sat there, the whole time, eating and watching the matches.

My eyes would glance over to the World Cup match from time to time, but my focus was mainly on Cornhole.

Fascinating.

These athletes have a lot of skill. More skill than I ever would possess in a game that is about tossing something into a hole.

Fucking holy hell.

Amazing.

By this time, I knew I was sick.

I woke up that way.

My throat was hurting. That little soreness in my tonsil.

That’s the sure-fire way I know that I’m sick.

Ate, rested, and knocked back a few beers.

I drove back to the hotel and took a long ass nap.

I was tired.

I don’t sleep well in hotels and this experience was no different.

I kept my normal sleeping schedule.

Fall asleep between 10-11pm and wake up around 6am.

In between are the dreaded 2-4am hour where I will be awake, having my 3am thinking sessions of work and what not.

It’s when I do my best thinking…about work.

It’s about work.

Not about my creative projects.

Work.

Fuck my life.

I just want to get through a night of sleeping, adjusting my body to the right temperature where i can sleep in a listless slumber, having my flickering mind images, healing my body.

Those don’t come easy

Not easy at all.

That’s where I am.

Now.

Hotel room.

Writing.

* * *

Plans.

I have none.

Rest.

That sounds ideal.

That sounds like a plan.

I’ll run out, get some food, and come back to the hotel.

No exploring.

No foot tripping.

None of that.

It’s way too hot to go out and do anything.

Being out in the heat doesn’t sound fun at all.

My mind starts to wander.

It’s time.

It’s my signal to move the fuck on and start my lazy day.

Adieu adieu.