You would think it was Free Pony Day with how excited people are.

The office is doing this in celebration of the Bears being in the Super Bowl. I truthfully couldn�t give a rat�s ass about the game (except the nachos-eating part), so I�m wearing a cute little brown sweater with my jeans while everyone else is donning Urlacher jerseys and other such nonsense.

When it comes to work and participation and -- hell -- being excited about anything I�m doing around here, I�m a total wet blanket lately.

The TPS reports don�t write themselves, but I don�t have to be a beacon of happy-fun cheeriness as I�m writing them.

Okay, one cool thing about work: a project in warmth is on its way.

That, and my fake boyfriend from NYC is in the office today. Getting and giving the eye is fun. Knowing that nothing will ever come of it isn�t a deterrent when you�re on dating hiatus.

Speaking of, why is it that once I announce that I�m on dating hiatus, everyone and their fucking dog comes out of the woodworks, sniffing around me like I�m a tree that�s been pissed all over?

Someone from four years ago is even sniffing. FOUR YEARS AGO! I was still dancing on bars and taking shots from midgets wielding a bottle of tequila back then.

Okay, so maybe I just answered why a 32-year-old man is contacting the me from four years ago. But still...

It�s just odd. Because, as my baby-wanting girl friends have shown, that as soon as you start wanting a boyfriend or at least some male affection, everyone goes AWOL. I tell them to adopt my ways, as being apathetic and disinterested seems to work well for me.

What�s also working well for me is running on the treadmill. Just yesterday I complained to a friend about how me only being able to do 30 minutes on it was making me nuts. For some reason, everything just clicked yesterday.

Wednesdays are the days that I do a sorta-long run. This hovers somewhere around 8-10 miles. This is seemingly impossible on the treadmill, but I hunkered down yesterday and was able to sufficiently distract myself for ninety minutes. NINETY. Hell, the treadmill has an auto shut-off at 60 minutes, and I had no idea it existed!

I watched the gruesome surgery channel for a bit and then watched 1.25 episodes of Without a Trace. I�ve never had TV-watching while on the treadmill work before, but I think having a little monitor directly in front of me was key. There are only five treadmills like this, and they�re well hidden from the club members, yet very visible to the street level.

It�s kinda disconcerting to have people outside looking at me, but whatever. NINETY MINUTES. I friggin� rule.

All right, everyone. I�m outta here. It�s time to hit the treadmill for fifty whole minutes before lifting arms and then going out for some untz-untz drinks with a friend. G�nite all. �