My birthday has come and gone.  Working seven days a week is definitely a good way to make your birthday hide around the corner.  Nobody outside of the closest circles really acknowledged it.  While I spent years making it a point to go out of my way to make my birthday celebrations difficult for others to accomplish, as I get older I do appreciate the time offered by those closest to me.  And of course now that I appreciate it, it becomes more and more difficult to get done. On that **Seven Day Plan** at work.  Luckily the last few of these days have only been eight or nine hours.  Not sixteen.  Haven't heard anything out of the Lynx Camp aside from hearsay.  Even the stuff coming out of OMJ's mouth needs to be questioned approprately due to the fact that the VA has his so maxed on drugs.  He has problems solving life's simplest things.  Thank you America. Getting more comfortable in these shoes, and it seems to reflect at work.  The kids talk to me more, in a manner of respect it seems.  They don't goof off with me like they do with Ziemer.  They talk about Android or Los Santos, they want to have a conversation.  I like that.  I really like working alone.  I wish I could duplicate myself and do Friday Fish Fry alone.  Last night was a fucking nightmare. Out for Saturday second right now.