Three waking hours...

I've started to measure my time at home in waking hours. Yesterday, I clocked in 3. From 7-8 am I showered and got ready for work. From 9-11 pm I ate the remaining crumbs from my dinner on the subway, a lemon poppy muffin, and caught up with my roomie before hitting the futon -exhausted- at 11 pm.

Today's looking like the same.

Really, where does the time go? I've been Northbound for nearly a month. I've seen a few old friends and archived countless personal emails into a "to respond to folder."

When will Father Time look my way.

I'm extremely impatient when it comes to comfort levels, we all are. Without sounding too Darwinian, I'm still adapting to my surroundings. I'm in constant search of the best deli on Lexington, cheap shoes in Midtown and an apartment in the East Village. If anyone knows the location of the above three, I'm all ears.

Although the journey is half the battle, I'm up to cutting some corners if it will make my commute shorter and my waking hour count a little higher.