This week is a dream. I’m not sure I mean that in any way beyond the fact that everything seems a touch unreal. I have had so little sleep at the customary times and my brain has shut down at inopportune moments. I’m not sure anyone has noticed. I would tell you what I did today but I can’t remember much beyond the macrobiotic lunch with Ted and then some brouhaha with a customer at work. It might not have been macrobiotic, but it tasted like it. I don’t really understand—and this has nothing to do with the macrobiotics—how someone can look at something, agree to it twice, once in writing and once verbally, and then call back and say, “Oh, my husband says that I can’t agree to that and you are horrible people to make me, so I take it back.” I mean, it’s called a policy for a reason, and that reason is not so I can waive the entire thing when poor little you gets yelled at by that Neanderthal you married. This is the sort of thing that sets feminism back a hundred years. And no, you don’t get special points for calling us awful businesspeople when our policy is the same as everyone else’s: it’s to protect us all from awful people like YOU. Wait, who am I talking to? Maybe I need to try to sleep again. I hear macrobiotic food is worse than speed.