Enter Ahab; to Him, Stubb

I'm sleeping more. Working less. Accomplishing less really. Fathering, boyfriending; afterall, I am in love. I've gained a little weight back. I fucking hate my job. Not because it's too hard, but because the machine that is payroll operates like a manual organ grinder, hand-cranked, unrelyable, not to be trusted. And I'm reading Moby Dick. Moby Fucking Dick.