I’m no superman

Yay, today’s my Friday, since I have tomorrow off. More on that in a moment. Lately I’ve been more busy and tired than usual at work, basically just the stress of trying to meet deadlines during an—oh, how to put this diplomatically?—interesting transitional period in the office. My mantra the whole time was “I’m no superman,” you know, like in the Scrubs theme (by Lazlo Bane). I’m not allowing myself to slack—believe me, I know how to do that all too well—but it’s (a) a reminder that I can and should ask others for help (in fact the lyric before that is “I can’t do this all on my own”), and (b) an acceptance that my sanity is worth more than any of the stupid little job stresses.

Anyway, on to much more pleasant thoughts. Thom’s and my trip to New York is nearly upon us, our first big trip together. I can hardly wait. This is exactly what I need right now. On my way home I realized that with Rufus’ concert this Friday night—tomorrow night!—I will have seen him play New York three years running. (The first was at Town Hall on Valentine’s Day 2002, and the second was the Tibet House benefit at Carnegie Hall.) Cool. We’ll be seeing a couple of musicals too, and I’m putting together a working shortlist of other things to do and see: museums, shopping, restaurants, etc. At Lambda Rising we found a fun guidebook called Betty & Pansy’s Severe Queer Review of New York, and when I get my hands on Time Out New York, we’ll browse through that, too.

Last night Thom asked, “So, do you have our entire itinerary planned out? ‘At 2:17, we…’”

“No,” I pshawed. A beat, then: “Not yet.”